Ring of Favor and Protection
by Gensh
Summary: All Deacon Lex had wanted in life was a loving wife and maybe a pet. He would happily serve the gods in peace. Imagine his surprise when he is chosen as Prophet and sent on a mission to ancient Lordran. With a knight of Astora at his side, will he save the world - or will he settle for being a witch's plaything?
1. Back in Black

" _You have broken your covenant with the gods and defiled this cathedral! The torch! Bring the torch, that this heretic might know the cleansing fire of the gods!"_

" _You have been cast aside by foolish men, bereft of the oath which was your purpose. Swear anon to me, and I will guide you. Engage now in communion with the last of the true gods and know my ancient name."_

" _Another undead, eh? Can't have you hurting anyone. Off to the Asylum with the rest."_

His head swam, and there was a pit in his stomach. Within the space of a month, his whole life had been washed away.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the sound of screeching metal jarred him to gasping wakefulness. The undead were tireless, but their minds were still fragile as any living human's. Caught up in self-pity and introspection, the man had been in a trance since his capture at the border.

It was dangerous for an undead to let his mind wander like that. He risked losing it amidst the sea of darkness that was the human spirit, now running wild and forcing his body to move on its own. If an undead lost heart, consciousness would fade altogether. His body would be left to become a hollow, a mindless beast. In truth, this man looked the part already. With each death, an undead body lost vigor and became more of a wretched, leathery shell.

Still, this undead possessed enough wit that he couldn't miss the sound of the rusted grate above his cell opening.

He had lain in the squalid chamber for longer than he could remember. There had been only a figurative skeleton guard of living jailors. Undead prisoners needed no food or water. Yet even the rare prisoner check-ins had come to cease. He could vaguely recall smirking as the guards who patrolled his wing had become undead through accidents or exposure… or later, through paranoia.

The guards who became undead were locked with the original inmates at first, but when reinforcements never came, the living had no choice but to free their resentful fellows. Soon, they had all fallen to the power of the Undead Curse. When messengers failed to return, the guards despaired of ever hearing from the outside. And so, they slowly went hollow. Thhough mindless, they continued their patrols out of ingrained habit for a time. Even those had ceased now, and this man yet still remained in his cell, waiting on the brink of hollowing amidst the biting insects which infested this place to feast on a buffet of undying flesh.

Yet the Goddess had reached him at last. He squinted, looking up at the light streaming from the hole in the roof of his dim cell. Molds had taken much of the damp wall, though they were little more colorful than the gray stone. Something eclipsed the pale light of the failing winter sun. The prisoner held up one hand to shield his eyes and could just barely make out the silhouette of a knight's helm.

The light darkened again briefly as the knight tossed something into the cell. The object cracked and slumped on the damp stone. It was the body of a defeated guard. The hollow's last reserves of strength had been exhausted, leaving it in a state of permanent inactivity which was the closest undead had to true death. The prisoner looked up just in time to see the knight turn and walk away.

Looking down again and letting his eyes adjust to this new lighting, he recognized the corpse. It was the guard captain for this wing of the Asylum – at least what was left of him. The stout, mustachioed man had given way to a shriveled husk nearly indistinguishable from any of the others. Only the scraggly hairs stuck to his upper lip and the tattered remnants of his uniform distinguished him from the identical red-eyed monsters outside. The prisoner rubbed his chapped lips in thought.

Hesitantly, he turned the body over. As he had thought – the keyring was still there. After an eternity of waiting, he was free. The Goddess had not abandoned him. Though freedom lay before him, he knelt in his half-burnt robes, dull red and stained with soot, and said a quick prayer.

"As grateful as I am, oh great Goddess" he murmured in a harsh, nasal voice, "this is not quite what I meant when I prayed for more excitement in my life. Romance. Maybe a pet."

Alive, he had been a deacon, a lesser servant of the gods. Until he swore his final oath and was fully invested as a priest, the potential for holy matrimony remained open to him. Of course, it didn't help that he was cloistered in the Cathedral with only fellow _male_ clerics. Even visiting nuns were rare.

"…but that Mother Superior from St. Delyn's… I'd confess my sins all night…"

It was a little surprising that he had kept his libido as a shambling corpse. The implications were unpleasant to say the least. Still, pondering that matter had been one of the mental exercises which had kept him from hollowing. For now, he pushed it from his mind. There was a new task before him, the completion of the Undead Mission.

Fortunately, the key still turned in the corroded lock, and he pushed the cell door open. Rats which feasted on flesh retreated into the walls. The cleric stretched all his body for a moment, then took off jogging. The hallway was long and full of hollows, some guards and some prisoners who had escaped as the Asylum decayed. Echoes of some great conflict thrummed through the hallway, and the ground shook.

The path was illuminated by torches, mindlessly replaced by the hollow guards as they burnt out. The cleric stopped where he saw the bars of the inner wall mangled and bent into the hall. The outer wall was solid stone, to prevent escape. The inner wall was iron bars so that the guards could watch. Watch what? He struggled to remember.

A hollow body hung from the twisted bars, broken as much as an undead body could be. Beyond was a ring filled with skeletons from which the last scrap of meat had been stripped. Sitting atop the pile of skulls was a hideous monster. Each fold of the morbidly obese thing's flesh was a stone wall. The gnarled horns which crowned its head looked like the branches of a great, dead tree.

It glared at him with watery, yellow eyes. It licked its lipless teeth and turned an enormous stone club about in its hands. The thing was intelligent. It knew it couldn't reach him, but it still relished the fear it caused. The cleric staggered backward, eyes blurry, head swimming.

Memory came rushing with the blood that pounded in his temples. He saw the Undead Asylum as it had been when he'd first arrived. No, earlier. It had been constructed to contain the thing, countless clerics holding it aslumber with miracles of Quella, God of Dreams.

The building had been a wayshrine on the road to the land of the gods. Those pilgrims who were too attached to their material possessions, those who did not make a suitable donation, never reached their destination. So too, were the politically inconvenient "lost" on pilgrimages to the distant north. He could see them, every last one, as the guards cast them into the pit with the waiting demon.

" _You will be my prophet, my eyes and voice in Lordran."_

"My Lady, these visions are _not_ prophecy," he grunted.

With a force of will, he blocked out the sights of death and turned away. After a few hesitant steps, he sprinted down the hall. The stairs, he bounded three or four at a time, nearly causing him to stumble on a pile of fallen bricks at the top. Through the archway he flew, when he suddenly spied a drop. Trying to stop too quickly, however, he slipped on the suddenly slick stone.

His legs left him, and he hit his butt hard before bouncing off the edge of the walkway and into knee-deep water. The cleric rose stiffly, looking around in the gloom. He was in a manmade depression at the corner of the building. The walkway banked sharply around its sides, and either wall had a submerged grate. Still, no water was draining from the pool.

"What even is this? Oh, by McLoyf! I hope this is for drainage and not for plumbing."

Still, it was dirty water. If he weren't already dead, he would be concerned for his health. Even as a heretic, he hoped a little that McLoyf, God of Medicine, would hear his voice.

Short stairs led back onto the walkway and through another archway. This lower part of the walkway was still under enough water that his robes dragged, and his his thin, sheep-hide shoes were thoroughly soaked. A narrow vertical stretch with only an iron ladder was before him. He sighed and made his way up. The ladder was cold from the wintry air drafting down from above, and his wet hands and feet tended to stick to each rung.

"…can't believe they took my cloak," he mumbled.

Though he had run out on his quest with nothing more than the clothes on his back, the Goddess had provided what few provisions might comfort an undead. No doubt his warm traveling cloak had been torn to shreds by hollows. The guards had confiscated all his belongings on arrival. Hopefully, they hadn't lost what he truly needed.

Stepping out into the chilly air, he saw the original wayshrine before him. Though worn, it was much less oppressive than the rest of the Asylum which had been built around it. The bricks were brighter and smaller, designed to impress, to lull pilgrims into a false sense of safety. The walls of the new Asylum loomed dark and foreboding, constructed in a great hurry. The politics were too complicated to simply feed all the undead to the demon below, but if the squalor of their accommodations led to prisoners hollowing more quickly, then the wretchedness was welcome.

Though the ground was just kissed by frost, only hardy weeds grew in the Asylum's courtyard. In the center, quite deliberately placed, was the bonfire. Should one of the inmates die, the guards would immediately spy them as the sacred flames rebuilt their immortal body. The prisoner could easily be apprehended – or shot to death from safety again and again until they hollowed from the pain of repeated resurrection. Only, the holy fire had gone cold.

"Looks like that knight missed it. Or was too cautious to bind his spirit to a bonfire in the middle of a trap. Looks like the guards are all hollow, though. Lucky me, I guess."

If the guards were all hollow, then he was free to roam the Asylum. It also meant, however, that he was probably stranded. The cleric sighed and approached the ash and bone. Rising quite morbidly from half of a human skull was a straightsword of crude iron, twisted into a cruder auger. As he reached toward it, the last bit of Fire in his soul sparked and reignited the bones.

"There. Hopefully, I won't need to use it."

This was no ordinary flame which rose from the ritual site. It resembled the stylized Flame of religious art – or rather, was the inspiration for it. Instead of a burbling, disordered "ball" of fire, individual trails of Flame rose and spiraled around the Coiled Sword.

The deacon's eyes flitted up. Directly ahead was the stair leading to the gate of the original shrine. A statue of a baying hound flanked either side of the rotten wooden doors, a sign of the Undead Hunt.

"Right," he murmured. "To the north. To Lordran."

The gloomy, overcast sky provided no direction, but the shrine could only lead one way – to the northernmost limit of the world, Lordran, home of the gods. Regaining some measure of confidence, he climbed the steps and thrust the doors open. The wide-open hall of the shrine was empty. Rubble was strewn about the floor, and the paving stones were uneven. Long-emptied grain amphorae were strewn about the outer walls.

He looked around in search of some clue. There was a pair of torches lining either side of side passage and little else. Sighing, he looked up. With rubble everywhere, he didn't want to risk the ceiling caving in on him while exploring.

"Oh! Gwyn! Dammit! You've got to be kidding me! Another one?"

Opposite the entrance was a grand balcony where the shrine's priest had once blessed pilgrims as they passed through the far gate. There stood another stone demon, grinning as it gripped its tree-sized club. The cleric accidentally met its beady gaze, and it hefted its bulk off the balcony. The whole shrine shook with its weight as it crashed to the floor, and loose bricks fell from the ceiling.

"Nonononono!"

The cleric turned around immediately, but a wall of colorless fog rebuffed his attempts to leave. Cursing under his breath, he turned forward again as the beast thundered toward him. He ran diagonally toward it with all the speed his withered body could muster.

"Oh, Goddess! Give me wings!"

He lunged over a pile of rubble and rushed between a pair of columns just as the demon caught up to him. It twisted its body back, then swung its club wide. The cleric dove face-first toward the torch-lined archway, tumbling under the tremendous stone club as it shattered both pillars. Just as he edged into the passage, a metal grate fell down behind him. A moment later, and he would have been trapped. Already on his hands and knees from the roll, he rose to a kneeling posture, panting.

"Goddess, thank you. It is twice now I have been saved by your grace. I won't forget the debt I owe you. I will complete your mission. I will complete the gods' Undead Mission." He crossed his open hands over his chest in submission. "Umbasa."

He stood and descended the stairs ahead to another flooded room. Only, this one had a bonfire. He reached out to light it, if only because being reborn at the previous one would leave him trapped in the courtyard. The holy fire didn't care about mere water or damp fuel and gave a faint roar as it sparked from human bone. Its warmth was inviting after that scare, but between his duty to the Goddess and the floor being terribly damp, the cleric continued onward.

The next hallway too was flooded for the first few yards. In the distance, he saw a hollow armed with one of the guards' bows. Even splashing around as he was, the dull thing hadn't noticed him yet. Taking a moment to think, he was surprised by how light it was in this passage. Looking up, however, he found the ceiling had been violently ripped away.

Bricks littered the hall, and many of the cells had caved in, burying their occupants. Briefly, the prophet caught a glimpse of them hollowing while trapped. One cell lay open, its door having broken free of its hinges. An inanimate hollow lay slumped in the doorframe.

"Hold on. Isn't that-?"

There was a sharp glint on the hollow's finger. The tattered rags belonged to a prisoner rather than a guard, but this fallen undead clutched something the cleric had meant to search for in the guards' quarters. He crouched in the water, soaking his robes again, and wrenched his prize free from the rigored hand.

"I can't imagine my fate if I hadn't gotten this back. I guess I'm not one to talk about apostasy, but I still can't believe they'd confiscate the symbol of a covenant with the gods. Even one such as my Lady."

The ring of black iron slipped eagerly onto his bare finger. The black diamond set in the band glimmered in midnight shades as its magic recognized a wearer sworn to its oath. Confidently, now, the cleric rose and faced the bow-wielding hollow ahead. He jogged carefully up the sloped hallway, watching his step on the slick, rubble-covered path. At last, the hollow stirred, lazily drawing an arrow.

As it fired, the cleric ducked to one side, leaning against an arch for balance. With a deep breath, he charged forward again. The hollow fled before he could reach it, shuffling into another passage as quickly as its unsteady legs would bear it. The cleric stopped to catch his breath at the top of the hallway. There was another fallen prisoner here.

There must have been an earlier prison break. The cleric had been locked in the deepest cell for fear of his miracles, so perhaps the other prisoners had not been able to free him. Perhaps they hadn't wanted a cleric looking down on them. In either case, they had clearly overrun the guards, as this prisoner too held one of his confiscated possessions.

"My lash!"

It wasn't a weapon. Not really. Yet the guards had taken it from him and thrown it with the others. Of course, there were few outside the Cathedral who would understand its purpose. He wrested it free from the dead man's hand.

The deacon's body had plenty of time to stretch since he first awoke, but he wondered how much his strength had diminished. He took the scourge in both hands and exhaled deeply. With a sudden motion, he whipped the cords over one shoulder. The metal studs raked across his back, tearing at his burnt robes. He gasped at the pain, eyes wide open, the wintry air digging as deep as the iron.

"Umbasa. A little weak," he gasped, "but not bad."

With the familiar discipline, he felt reinvigorated rather than weakened for the wound. Still, he rolled his shoulders to alleviate the buzzing sensation before turning back to the task at hand. He peeked around the corner and back into the darkness.

Torches lit the passage, but the contrast between even the overcast sky and the lightless Asylum was blinding. Entering reluctantly, he found himself at the bottom of some stairs, just as the hollow bumbled its way to the top. The cleric looked about. It would be difficult to dodge an arrow on the stairs.

As he resigned himself to suffering an arrow or two, he looked up again to see the hollow had kept fleeing. He sighed and climbed the stairs without worry. The half-mindless thing waited to fire until his head began to crest over the end of the stairs, so he simply had to crouch to avoid the shot. Before the hollow could draw another arrow, he sprinted to it and wrenched the shortbow away.

"No. Bad."

He swatted its hands with the lash as if disciplining one of the younger deacons. He had no experience with a bow, but he slung the weapon over his back just in case. Still, it seemed that this hollow was more unhinged than the rest. It gnashed its teeth and swiped at him with yellowed fingernails. With no other choice, he thrashed it with the scourge, tearing its papery flesh.

It groaned terribly and collapsed, exhaling its last breath as a faint blue wisp. The last bits of soul animating it wafted up and into the cleric's nose. He sniffled and coughed but felt infinitesimally stronger.

He started to continue but found his path blocked by barrier of thick, white fog, like had trapped him with the demon. He approached it curiously, tilting his head as if the change in angle would reveal something about the billowing, shifting mist. It was almost like the soulstuff he had just absorbed, only utterly without color.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached to touch it. This fog wall dragged him through instead of repelling him like before, and by the time his entire body had emerged from the other side, it had dissipated into nothing.

"Ah, a mystery for another time, I guess."

His eyes adjusted to the outside more easily this time, as he had emerged in the shade of an intact portion of the roof. The path ahead was blocked by rubble. To his left was a balcony which overlooked the courtyard. The path led either left or right from there.

"Keep your right hand on the wall, and you'll eventually make it out of a maze, was it?"

He took the right path until he encountered stairs leading either up or down. Since there was no point in returning to the courtyard, he started climbing. Midway up, he heard the stones groan.

Half-expecting another demon, he threw himself to the side, falling to the top of the descending stairs. An enormous iron ball flew past him and crashed into the wall. Falling bricks echoed from within the wing formerly sealed by rubble.

The cleric quickly rounded the top of the stairs and almost began climbing again, but some instinct beckoned him to the new hole in the wall. Again, it was tremendously dark, and again, he had to step carefully over rubble and through water. The paths beyond had both caved in, but at the far end of the chamber, he saw something glinting in a ray of light breaking through the roof.

Lying atop a bed of rubble was the knight who had freed him. Now that he could see clearly, he recognized the armor.

Lying there was an Astoran elite knight, cream of cream. It was Astora's tales of romance which had elevated knights from heavily armored warriors to noble men of faith. Yet even in the so-called homeland of knighthood, there were those who stood above the rest. Clad in the blue of nobility, with golden embroidery to represent the miracles of the gods and a red scarf to symbolize the blood of the fallen, the _elite knights_ were well-known in neighboring Carim.

Opinions of them differed on social circumstance. Fantastic heroes to the toiling peasants; masters of propaganda to the envious nobles; undying demons to the common soldiers. This one was not so undying. The knight lay insensate on the rough pile of bricks, only barely turning his helm at the cleric's splashing footsteps.

"Oh, you," he said weakly. "You're no hollow, eh?"

Each word seemed to drain the wounded knight. His voice was light and airy – even moreso than the usual Astoran accent. Every time he stopped speaking, it seemed as if he would lose his grip on the world.

"Thank goodness. I'm done for, I'm afraid. I'll die soon, then lose my sanity."

The cleric looked about. The front of the knight's armor had crumpled from an immense impact, likely that demon's club. The rear, however, had smaller dents all across its surface. They roughly fit with the bricks upon which the knight lay. The cleric looked up to the hole in the ceiling. The knight hadn't been hit hard enough to fall through, had he?

"I wish to ask something of you," the knight continued. "You and I, we're both undead. Hear me out, will you?"

"No. Get up."

The knight paused for several moments before speaking.

"I beg your pardon?"

The cleric wasn't exactly enthused about saving the life of an ancestral enemy. Yet the gods' gifts were often mysterious, and he could certainly use the help.

"Curse or no, we're immortal! Walking among the gods! Kings have dreamt of this since the dawn of history! You would throw your life away because of a mere demon?"

"I'm afraid I-"

"Iron arms of Tarkus! Are you even a knight? Shut up and drink your estus!"

The cleric yanked a glowing bottle from the knight's belt and poured the liquid Fire straight through the knight's visor. Despite the nearness of hollowing, the knight's survival instincts kicked in. As the captured Flame filled his lungs, he jerked forward in a fit of coughing, trying to breathe.

"What are you-?"

The sentence went unfinished as another fit of coughing came on. The sacred flames of a bonfire dripped from the helmet like honey. In disgrace, the knight turned away before opening his visor to dump some of it out.

"What are you doing?" he said coldly as he snapped the visor shut and turned back.

"No, what are you doing?" the cleric returned flippantly.

"This is no time for jokes, Carimin."

While the Astoran knight's accent was the sort which had become the very definition of grace and nobility, the Carimin cleric's was as exacting, terse, and unpleasant as an estate executor.

"Oh, that's right, you were wallowing in self-pity. So sorry to disturb you while you sang your own dirge. Your baritone was spectacular."

Steel and leather creaked as the knight clenched a fist. He sighed.

"I see what you've done. Fired me up. It doesn't matter. There's nothing I can do against that monster. Even a holy sword means naught against stone flesh."

"And so you're going to give up? The gods didn't guide you here for no reason. You were led here to free me. They're watching you. Are you going to spit in their eyes?"

"I… I haven't much faith left in gods who would let this Curse overrun the world."

"Then rejoice, for you've earned their favor anyway!"

The knight was silent again. After a few moments, he forced himself to his feet.

"To whom do I owe my thanks?"

"Lex. Lexion. I was a deacon at a cathedral until recently, when I was, ah, fired."

The knight took a deep breath, then extended his hand.

"I am Knight Oscar de Collunaires. Please, call me Oscar."

The cleric shook his hand firmly, and Oscar began speaking again.

"Have you come here in pilgrimage, Lex?"

"Not quite. I had not expected to revive. My Lady had mercy on me and made a bonfire in secret. She told me to seek Lordran, but that was… Lloyd knows how long ago. She told me that I was to be her prophet, and ever since you woke me, I've begun to have visions."

"A prophet, truly? I have come here to pursue a prophecy. There is an old saying in my family:

Thou who art undead, art chosen.  
In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum,  
Maketh pilgrimage to the land of ancient Lords.  
When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening,  
The Fate of the Undead, thou shalt know."

Lex blinked hard. His eyes burned. His head throbbed. Images of bells and a toothy serpent danced in his mind. Above all else, there was a horrible stench.

"No. There are two Bells. We must ring both to awaken the Kingseeker."

"Are you… alright? Is this a vision?"

"Yes and yes," the cleric grunted. "Let's get moving. Getting thrown in jail for an unknown amount of time isn't the greatest start to a prophet's career. That's usually how they end."

"Certainly. Let us descend first, however. I saw you light the bonfire from the roof. I would have us fully ready to fight the demon again before proceeding."

Lex just nodded, so he and Oscar emerged into the light again and descended the stairs. A locked gate blocked their path, but Oscar had taken the key from the ruins of the guards' quarters. After passing through, Lex spent a few moments warming in the bonfire's heat while Oscar trapped some of its flame in his sacred, emerald-green flask. Ready for action, the pair ascended to the second, then third storey. A hollow and a gate blocked their path, but Oscar's sword solved one problem and his key, the other.

At the end of a short hallway, they found an unintentional balcony. Two walls had been torn away by years of neglect and the demon's temper. The oldest parts of the structure, built before even the wayshrine, had long since crumbled. Ruins were strewn across the rising peak beyond. The Asylum had been built atop a mountain with a gentle slope, but massive, impassable peaks were all around it, capped with white.

Havel's Teeth, they were called, after the first Bishop of Lordran. Just as the warrior-priest's shield halted even the most violent advance, the mountain range ensured that only those guided by the gods could reach ancient Lordran. On the third storey, the men were as high as the mountain's peak, and with the walls gone, the cold wind quietly howled around them. Lex shivered in his tattered robes, but Oscar seemed unfazed. The leather and thick cloth coat kept away the chill of his metal armor.

Lex's head throbbed again. He experienced some vertigo as his perspective flew ahead of him, then returned just as swiftly.

"To the left, around the corner. Two hollows. No, three. The one in the back has a bow."

"What would you have me do?"

"You're not very mobile in your armor, are you?"

"No. I must admit, I have grown sluggish with each death."

"Alright, wait here. I'm going to draw them out."

Lex started across the balcony but quickly found himself distracted. Another prisoner lay inanimate, propped against one of the broken walls. He scanned the corpse. Sure enough, it had one of his possessions – perhaps the most important.

"Goddess bless!" he sighed.

He glanced at the hollow as it drunkenly sauntered toward him. Taking a breath, he dashed toward the body and fumbled at its hands. Unfortunately, this corpse was more difficult to deal with than the one which had his ring. The prisoner must have been maintaining a death grip even before dying. Lex glanced over his shoulder to the hollow. It had closed half the distance, the second one behind it.

"I blame the Gravelord for this!"

Lex gave up on prying the corpse's fingers open before the hollows reached him and instead grabbed hold of the wrist and elbow. Kicking the shoulder and stomping it against the wall, he jerked with all his might, snapping the withered arm out of its socket. Unfortunately, the force of his twisting also threw him off-balance and into the hollows. All three of the undead collapsed in a heap as an arrow whizzed overhead.

"No! Bad! Ugh! Sir Knight! Stab them!"

Oscar shook his head and sighed. He approached the pile of limbs cautiously. Another arrow shot toward them, but he blocked it unconsciously with a casual raise of his ornately-embossed shield. He made a quick overhand thrust, then another. Each time, his holy sword pierced a hollow through the twisted flesh about its heart. It was likely that was no weak point, but Lex understood the symbolism.

"Thanks," the cleric said as Oscar extended a hand to help him up.

"You are quite welcome. Now… I believe I will handle the last."

Lex laughed nervously. The knight turned to face the archer, which fired another arrow mindlessly. He deflected this one as well and paced steadily toward the hollow. It tried to shoot once more, but even the knight's exhausted pace was faster than the mindless thing could nock an arrow. An upward thrust pierced its ribcage, "killing" it immediately.

Oscar turned back to see Lex still picking at the fingers of the severed arm. At last, the cleric pried the ring finger free, but he had applied too much force and broke it off entirely.

"Oh, Goddess, this is disgusting."

"That's right," Oscar murmured. "You never did mention the name of your lady. Is doing so forbidden?"

"Ah, no. I'm just, uh, well, I guess I was more a – generalist? – pantheist? – before. I'd say things like, 'Oh, gods,' but not really venerate one in particular. You know? Not putting all my spiritual eggs in one basket. Well, for some reason, the Goddess thought to save me and make me her prophet. And that's the story, I guess."

"That… didn't answer the question at all."

"What question? Oh! Right! Name! I serve the Great Justiciar herself, Berenike, Goddess of Dominion. Honestly, I don't know what she wants with me, but you don't argue with a deity who brings you back to life."

"Berenike? Like those legendary knights?"

"Yeah! Have you ever seen an illustration? They've got her wings on their shields, and they coat their armor in soot to resemble her."

"I'm curious, but we should press on… if we can."

Oscar motioned to another fog wall blocking the entrance to the wayshrine's inner balcony.

"I have no idea what this is, to be totally honest. There probably would have been some text at the Cathedral. It looks like a seal of some sort. It does feel somewhat divine, but I can't make heads or tails of it."

Oscar nodded, so Lex continued.

"Still, I think this is one we could press through. Don't want to go back in through the front door if we can take the demon by surprise."

"What about these bows?" the knight asked, gesturing. "You've got one. There's another here. I don't think the arrows could penetrate… but if we're lucky, we can pick it off from safety."

"I like the way you think, friend."

Oscar paused in the middle of testing the half-rotten shortbow.

"Have you forgotten my name?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, what is it?"

"…Oliver?"

"Try Oscar."

The knight pushed through the fog, drawing the bow. He fired the very instant his vision was clear, then again and again. He'd held a fistful of arrows and shot them one after the other without wasting time drawing from a quiver.

"Wait, is it like this, or…?"

Lex kept passing the bow from one hand to the other, trying to determine which grip was more comfortable. Mere paces away, Oscar grabbed another handful of arrows and continued his rain of fire on the demon below. The thing roared in irritation as the top of its head came to resemble a pincushion. It took a moment for the demon's heavy body to turn around, and the thoughtful monster gazed upward with a burning fury. Suddenly, the prophet recalled a memory that was not his own.

"Oscar! It can fly!"

The obese stone creature began flapping tiny, decorative-looking wings. Somehow, it slowly lifted off the ground.

"Gogogo! We're jumping!"

The knight watched in surprise as the cleric sprinted past, leaping through the air with all the grace of a rat in a trap. Lex practically hung in midair for a moment before falling past the demon. He mistakenly caught its branching horns with his flail and jerked back upward. The force of the swinging deacon turned the demon's head and caused the whole monster to tilt backward, costing it what little lift its wings could produce. Again, Lex and his enemy fell to the ground in a heap.

Oscar slung the bow over his shoulder and drew his sword. He took a few steps back, then charged off the platform. His steel armor provided impressive momentum, and he whipped his whole body with trained grace. As the demon tried to rise, he drove his holy sword into its eye. It shrieked from the blow, gushing dust and gravel like blood.

The monster stumbled for several seconds, but Oscar maintained his grip until the demon tumbled over backward. Its arms fell limp, letting its enormous club roll across the hall. Something was jarred loose as the weapon struck a column and clattered to a stop. Lex sighed and began to untangle his lash. His shortbow had been lost somewhere in the struggle.

"Weren't you the one who said fighting was hopeless? You basically did it by yourself anyway. 'Thou who art undead, art chosen.'"

"Maybe you're right, Ivan."

"Oh, come on, that one's not even close. I made an honest mistake, you wanker."

Oscar removed a rough cloth from a belt pouch and wiped the dust from his sword while walking toward the fallen club. He sheathed the blade as he bent down to see what had broken free from the monolithic weapon.

"It looks like the demon had the key. I fear, to ensure none could escape, even if one could outrun it."

"Well, let's get out of here then. No sense in lingering until the demon in the basement decides to smash its way out."

"There was another?" Oscar said, shocked.

"Oh yeah. I guess we're just lucky they weren't a breeding pair. Or do demons work like that?"

"If if a cleric does not know, I would never have a chance."

Lex nodded and slipped his lash into the waistband of his trousers, beneath his flowing vestments. Oscar walked to the great iron doors and turned the key. With a bit of effort, he forced them open, unsealing the ancient path for what was likely the first time since the Asylum had been built. The pilgrim's road was terribly worn, the paving stones and the shrines through which which it had passed reduced to a collection of loose bricks. Still, the two undead pressed upward, through the weeds and the snow.

A number of grave markers had been erected amongst the ruins, likely made from the fallen stone. There was no uniformity about them, and they seemed to be written in a hundred different dialects. As the pair passed through the ruins of the final gate, they saw nothing but more weeds and untended graves.

"The pilgrim's road to Lordran… is a dead-end?" Oscar shouted over the roar of the wind, unsure of himself again.

"No, the Goddess wouldn't have led me here if that were the case! There's got to be something we're missing!"

They approached the utmost peak, a sheer cliff. All around them, the wind howled so that they could barely hear themselves think. Before they could get a better look, however, a shadow fell upon them from above.

There was no time to react. Talons like black iron had grasped them tightly, and they were drawn into the air. A crow the size of a lesser drake snatched them into the sky before they could resist. They would only fall to their deaths if they tried now.

It wheeled about above the Asylum and turned north again. Higher and higher, it soared. Faster and faster. Thinner air. Immense force. In moments, vision blacked.


	2. Master Exploder

Away and below, the land of the Lords reached to the end of sight. The shining kingdom of the Lord of Sunlight and his gods sat nestled in the valley. Where nothing should have grown in the harsh northern clime, Lord Gwyn had planted the root of civilization. The rolling hills between the jagged mountains provided shelter from the cold and storms, while a gentle sun warmed the abandoned fields. As the pilgrims stirred from unconsciousness, they beheld a sprawling acropolis. The crow wheeled about to give them a grand view of the surroundings.

There had been a thriving center of worship here before. Ruined buildings covered the whole of the cliffside, some parts teetering over the edge from where wind and rain had washed away their support. For generations, this shrine had been rebuilt again and again, walls running alongside and against one another without direction. Far below, the layered walls of Anor Londo above divided the human towns from one another and distributed water from the River of Tears high in the mountains. Ancient legends spoke of these towns, populated by those who had braved the long pilgrimage and went on to serve the gods for the rest of their lives.

Only, the towns were quiet. No sound could have reached the shrine so high above, but the telltale lines of smoke were absent. There were no lights in the towns below. No fires for cooking, nor even the glimmer of a bonfire to sustain undead. Even from a distance, they were clearly in better shape than the worn and moss-covered shrine, but they were equally deserted.

Content with what it had shown the men, the crow dove low over a ring of ruined walls. It dropped them without ceremony, then rose again to perch atop the ruined chapel, watching them curiously. Lex's eyes looked to the bird, then upward. A few blackened husks of trees dotted the hillside, but the branches of an enormous yew erupted from the cliff face to shade the ruins. Each branch was broad and long as a small town's main road. The tree's trunk was half-buried in the cliff, but the imagined size of it was boggling.

Oscar instead turned straight to business. At the center of the ringed walls was a bonfire, though it had long gone cold. A pale-faced man, with a simple soldier's cut and unkempt stubble, sat on a fallen pillar. He had been watching the dead fire, but with a sigh, he forced his eyes to turn to the pilgrims.

"Well, what do we have here? You must be new arrivals. Let me guess. Fate of the Undead, right? Well, you're not the first."

"I should hope not," Lex said, snapping back to attention. "How depressing would it be for the world to be ending, and we're the first to actually try to stop it?"

The man smiled thinly.

"There's no salvation here. You'd have done better to rot in the Undead Asylum… but, too late now."

He stared at them hard with dead eyes. Oscar snorted.

"Well, since you're here," the man continued, confident in his despair, "let me help you out. There are actually two Bells of Awakening. One's up above, in the Undead Church. The other is far, far below, in the ruins at the base of Blighttown.

Ring them both, and something happens… Brilliant, right? Not much to go on, but I have a feeling that won't stop you. So, off you go. It is why you came, isn't it? To this accursed land of the undead?"

"You're trying awfully hard to get rid of us," the deacon moaned sarcastically. "Are we interrupting your thrilling lifestyle of watching grass grow?"

"Lex, stop," Oscar grunted, grabbing his arm for emphasis. "You're Vinheimer, aren't you? What's your name, warrior?"

"Oh, I'm nobody important, your lordship. But if you must know, my name is Halmarr. I was a cobbler before I was drafted. If you ever happen to need shoe repair, don't hesitate to ask. But if you want a soldier, well, you're out of luck."

"The world is ending. Can you really bring yourself to sit there and do nothing?"

Halmarr smiled thinly.

"No… I've seen quite enough for one end of the world."

"You call yourself a warrior!"

"I call myself a cobbler. I never had any business coming here. But you're a fine example of a knight yourself, traveling with a barbarian whose people raid your coast. I'm sure a fine and educated nobleman like yourself thinks only about the diplomacy of it all. Nevermind a lost village or two."

"I'm a cleric! The only thing I'd ever raid is the Cathedral library!"

"Oh… a cleric, that's right. I remember you. Locked in the deepest cell of the Asylum. Even when we were overrunning them, all the guards could think about is what would happen if you got out. And here you are. Maybe the situation isn't so hopeless. Maybe you'll even ring one of the Bells before going hollow."

Halmarr fell into a cracking, desperate laughter. Lex's expression stiffened a little before he spoke.

"Well, I'll have to say a prayer for your friends. I can't imagine how long it would have taken to search the rubble for my things if they hadn't grabbed them before the demon destroyed the guards' quarters."

"A demon?" Halmarr said, knitting his brows in doubt.

"Oscar practically killed it by himself. I didn't have to invoke a single miracle. We will save this land, Halmarr of Vinheim. I am Lexion, Prophet of Goddess Berenike."

He held up his hand, black ring of his covenant with the goddess glinting in the warm sunlight.

"Well, I won't argue with your barbarian goddess."

"Do you not realize what you're sayi-?"

Oscar held his shield arm between them.

"Lex, it's not worth it. He's just looking to get you riled. Not that you aren't just as bad. Halmarr. If you have anything else that may be of use to us, then speak. Otherwise, we'll leave you in peace."

"You want to hear more? Oh, that's all we need. Another inquisitive soul. Well, listen carefully, then…

One of the bells is up above in the Undead Church, but the lift is broken. You'll have to climb the stairs up the ruins, and access the Undead Burg through the waterway. The other bell is back down below the Undead Burg, within the plague-infested Blighttown. But I'd die again before I step foot in that cesspool!"

Lex's temples throbbed, and his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. He saw the Undead Burg, a pet project of the gods. They had known of the Curse long before it became the plague it was now. Those who fell undead in the towns below were taken to the Burg, where they couldn't harm others and could live out the remainder of eternity with some sense of dignity. The pilgrim's waystation had meant to lead to the Burg.

Only, the project failed. The undead became too accustomed to death. They lost their sense of caution, then their value for life itself. They killed each other over trivial matters, each death weakening their sense of reason and leading to more killing. Their faithful dogs fell to the same fate, and when the cats fled, the rats which fed on human waste followed suit.

The guard tried to curtail the spread of physical and spiritual ill as packs of thieves and murderers became common. The undead were used to death, though, so the only choice was to make it so horrible that they did not want to experience it again. Like the growing refuse around them and the rats which infested it, they burned their criminals. The oh-so-familiar smell of burning human oils flooded Lex's mind.

They cried out to the gods for help, but the gods had abandoned them, it seemed. The guard went hollow, and defenseless, the remaining citizenry did so as well. With none to prey on, the burglars and cutthroats could only follow suit.

Heaving, the prophet fell to his knees. Vivid flames and rotten flesh gave way to dull grass and dull earth beneath it.

"Lex, are the visions that taxing? It could be dangerous if you were overwhelmed during battle."

"No, it's the… the smell. I'll be alright."

He gagged again, then grasped at the knight's outstretched hand.

"I know the way through the Burg. At least from a bird's-eye view."

"Well, isn't that convenient," Halmarr murmured.

Oscar turned his helmet to the warrior, then continued helping Lex to his feet.

"See, up that way," the prophet said, tracing his finger through the air. "Up the hill, then inside the maintenance tunnel for that aqueduct. That'll get us in through the wall."

He pointed for emphasis at one of the towering walls on the other side of the valley. It started on a cliffside at a level just below the shrine they were on, then continued upward as far back as they could tilt their heads. Oscar nodded.

"I hate the thought of skulduggery, but that may be our only way in. I'll take point. If there's any trick to our path, please show me as soon as you become aware."

Lex nodded, so the knight turned to light the bonfire. The pilgrims each focused on it for a moment, reorienting their undead senses to return there on death. So prepared, they made their way up the hill. It was a narrow ledge which wound around the cliffside toward the aqueduct, but the going was made easier by stone steps, long worn smooth. They were uneven, made from fallen stone taken from the ruined shrine, but they were better than nothing.

At the top, the pilgrims found hollows waiting for them. These weren't merely prisoners, already exhausted from their captivity before hollowing. They had proper weapons and armor, albeit of the sort given to peasant conscripts. Still, a hollow was a hollow, and the pair had already dealt with a demon. The mindless creatures were easy to draw out alone. With Oscar's sturdy shield and armor, he was at no risk, to say nothing of the cleric standing at a safe distance.

"Look out, that one's throwing something," had been the only danger.

With the hollow's sluggish movements and poor aiming, the knight was well out of the way before the firebomb burst on the ground. Careful timing was all that was required to brave the narrow ledge the bomb-thrower guarded. A few sword strokes more, and the pair had reached the aqueduct's maintenance passage. They stood at a dizzying height, such that Halmarr below was scarcely the size of a fingertip, though Lex was more stupefied by the tree branches, which somehow reached over the colossal wall.

The aqueduct passage smelled terrible. The source of the stench was in part a half-decayed undead rat gnawing on an equally-rotten human corpse caught by a grate some distance downstream. With something like that there to greet them, there was no telling what other human waste might be in the water. There was no light in the tunnel, but faint sunlight shone in the distance. Oscar led with his shield raised just in case, but they hurried through the ankle-deep water until they'd reached an archway like the one they'd entered.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the light again as they climbed a long stairwell from the hidden tunnel to the roof of a building. It was fortunate that Oscar was in the lead. They'd hardly had time to orient themselves in the light before hollowed looters charged at them. With no prey for an eternity, the bandits couldn't tell the pair weren't the usual helpless burghers. A half dozen smashed at the knight's shield with a fury.

While they couldn't get through the narrow exit from the stairwell, the knight couldn't hold his guard forever. Worse, there were enough of them that he couldn't easily counterattack even if he was prepared to take a few hits.

"Now would be a great time for a miracle, Prophet Lex!"

"Right, let me just get some room!"

Part of the wall behind them had given way, and he quickly climbed up onto the battlements. The cleric ran behind the mob, and his hands went to his charred rope belt. In one, he took his lash, and in the other, a lock of black hair bound in silver thread. This was the last of his stolen possessions, the one he had risked being torn apart by hollows to retrieve. He quickly swat himself on the back, drawing blood as he began to chant.

 _So it was that the stormy king questioned_  
 _His parent's power plain._  
 _Berenike rent the rain,_  
 _Spake_ " _Awake, O shade of Flame!_ "

The cleric cast his goddess' talisman toward the hollows, and the sound of tiny bells ringing echoed from nowhere. A sphere of rippling energy exploded from the lock like a bruise on the sky. Mere hollows, of course, had no resistance to magic and so crumpled in a wave.

"Nicely done," Oscar said. "Still, I'm not sure I liked the sound of that miracle."

"I don't even want to imagine how strict a parent the Goddess of Dominion was. My mother only ruled the household, and she still got terrifying sometimes."

Oscar was silent for a moment, but Lex couldn't make out an expression through a helmet.

"No, I meant-" the knight began.

"Holy-!"

Lex had been looking about him and was leaned over the far side of the wall.

"Oscar, get up here, real quick!"

The knight finished the climb to the stop of the stairs, then used some of the overgrown ivy to haul himself over the wall's crenelation.

"While we're talking about them, get a load of that ugly mother."

The pointing cleric was leaning so far over the ledge that Oscar nervously gripped the side of the wall before looking down himself. Below was a checkpoint where caravans would have to wait to have their carts examined before entering or leaving, to ensure nothing or no one was being smuggled in or out. A long stair led to the second-storey entrance of the guardhouse, the closed iron gate beside it. Only, something was blocking the gate. At this distance, it almost looked like a man.

It stood upright like a man and had the shape of a man, but the feet upon which it stood were the paws of a hound. Its head was like a goat's skull, and its four glowing eyes glowered at them from even this distance. In each hand was a crude, hooked slab of blood-rusted iron that a barbarian might deign to call a sword.

"Hey, Oscar, what are the odds you can shoot its eyes out from this distance?"

"Impossible. I'd need a better bow."

"Is… is that really the only issue?"

"Well, I may need some practice shots. My body is still sluggish from so many deaths."

"I swear to Lloyd, are you serious? Let's go look for one. I'm not fighting that. I'll grab some of the firebombs lying around, and we'll just pelt the thing from here."

"I suppose honor matters little when your foe is a demon."

"You got the right idea."

They turned away from the wall and the gate where the demon waited. The Burg ahead was a sprawling maze of multi-storey tenements connected by rickety scaffolding and only slightly more sturdy bridges. The last vestiges of the burghers had built them to maintain some remnant of normal lives far above the streets where bodies burned and killers lay waiting in darkened alleys. For the pair of pilgrims, ambushes were still common, but none were nearly so dangerous as the first. Most times, Oscar could dispatch the hollows quickly, and when he couldn't, Lex could hold off one or two with his lash without having to resort to his limited miracles.

While Oscar wasn't as useful in looting if only because of the weight of his armor, having two people sped the search for a bow. Two pairs of eyes caught details more quickly, and Oscar could easily boost the lean Lex to higher floors where the stairs had given way. They didn't find a bow which wasn't half-rotten or splintered, but they did find a crossbow for Lex to use and a surprising number of firebombs. Ammunition was scarce, but wood and the broken weapons of pillagers were abundant, so they had plenty of material for makeshift projectiles.

"You know, clerics use blunt weapons because of a misunderstanding," Lex said, breaking silence while they worked. "Someone misread an old rule as clerics not being able to draw blood. Now, because tradition is such an important thing in the Church, clerics everywhere switched to beating the tar out of their enemies, cruelly breaking all their bones instead of just stabbing them and ending it mercifully. Well, except those assholes with morning stars. And of course, my sect clearly draws blood."

"How did you come by such a cruel weapon?"

"It's not a weapon. I just don't have anything else."

"Take your pick," Oscar said, gesturing to the broken swords and axes they'd collected.

"Well, I don't exactly have weapons training either. After we find a safe place and a weapon that's not splintered enough to cut me as much as it does my enemies, you can give me a few lessons."

"It would be my pleasure. But that didn't answer the question. If only you were as good at dodging blows as you are topics of conversation. What business does a cleric have with a lash like that? I had thought the rumors of slavery in Carim were merely rumors."

"It's a tool for focusing the mind and steeling the body. If you're in pain, 'what's for lunch today' isn't quite so distracting a thought. It also reminds us that we are wretched creatures. We are all but thralls of the gods, but they are not so close as to be able to punish us when we deserve it. By choosing to take the lash voluntarily, we hope the Flame of Judgment does not burn us so badly when we die.

Also, once you've gotten used to it, it actually feels really great. Imagine when you've got one of those bad itches under the skin that doesn't go away no matter how much you scratch. This scratches those itches."

"If you say so. I won't pretend to know anything about Carim's interpretation of the Way of White… or… whatever that was. I don't think you're supposed to enjoy punishment."

"Well, that demon certainly won't."

When they returned to the battlement, Oscar had a quiver full of arrows, Lex had a case full of bolts, and they had three crates of firebombs between them.

"Hey, Billy! Catch!"

Lex hurled a firebomb at the goat-headed demon, but the bomb had a long way to fall. The creature casually raised one of its swords to block. Oscar looked at the cleric in silence for a moment.

"Congratulations. You came up with a plan, put in the work, and somehow managed to ruin it in the opening volley."

He strung his bow and grabbed a fistful of arrows.

"Is there anything your goddess can do for us?"

"Not at this range."

"Then we do this the old-fashioned way."

Oscar unleashed a volley of arrows on the demon, which raised its sword and tilted its head as if looking out at the rain from shelter.

"Now the beast is mocking us," he grumbled.

Lex rubbed his lips in thought.

"Oscar, how far can you throw me?"

"What in Flame could you possibly be thinking? Where would you even-?"

"Right there. That roof. There's a gap between the wall and the buildings there and not enough room for a running start. But if you throw me, I think I can survive the fall. From there, I climb to the next roof, then drop to that balcony, then stretch over to that other one. I can shoot him in the back of the head from there."

Oscar gave a hollow sigh from within his helmet.

"If you can survive the fall, that could work."

"Then throw me like the Gwynmas festival I am."

"If you say that again, I'll drop you. Climb up onto the crenelation. I'll flip you backward."

Both put away their weapons, and the cleric stood atop the stone. Oscar faced the opposite direction and crouched, cupping his hands.

"Go!"

Lex hopped down into Oscar's hands. The knight heaved backward, throwing Lex face-first through the air. He rolled a little mid-flight before crashing to the flat stone roof with a sickening slap. The prophet merely grunted.

"Oh. That's the bad kind of pain. Right there. Give me a second."

With great difficulty, he pulled himself to his feet and hauled his sore body onto the higher adjacent roof. He started to slip through the railing to drop down to the balcony beneath him, but it was a narrow target.

"You know what? Maybe I don't need to drop down. I can totally shoot from here. Oscar, I'm shooting from here."

The knight shook his head but drew his bow again as Lex leveled his crossbow. They fired at once, but the demon merely raised its second sword. It didn't even need to look to block the cleric's amateur aim. Lex grumbled deeply.

"Okay, Plan B."

"We didn't discuss a Plan B."

"Plan A is arrows, Plan B is bombs. Get with the program."

"You tried a bomb!"

"I tried _a_ bomb. Grab a whole box. I'm going to do something stupid."

"What have you done that wasn't?"

Lex hung his crossbow on his belt again and forced his creaking body between the railings. With a grunt, he dropped to the – wait, this wasn't a balcony, this was a windowsill! It held his weight for just a moment before he yelped and jumped to the balcony next door. He flopped over the railing like a fish. Safely on the other side, he tugged at the railing to test its strength.

Fortunately, it was sturdy enough despite being green with mold. He shed his billowing vestment, revealing a lean scholar's body which had clearly not seen the sun since he entered study at the Cathedral. He tied the dull red cloth around one ankle and around one of the rails.

"Lex. What are you doing?"

"Just get the bombs ready. You're a great distraction."

The demon had given up on anticipating any sort of threat from the cleric, no matter how big a racket he was making clambering around the rooftops. Looking satisfied with himself, Lex hopped over the edge. His momentum carried him away from the demon as he fell, but he'd soon reached the end of the cloth, which swung him back toward the demon. Before the monster realized the full implications of what the cleric had done, he finished chanting.

The violet explosion cast the demon back against the gate and elicited a yelp from a nearby undead hound, which dropped dead on the spot. The demon snorted and stomped after the cleric as he swung back on his robe.

"Gogogogogo!"

As Lex struggled to climb back up to the balcony, Oscar spun in a half-circle, hurling an entire crate of firebombs through the air. So furious at the surprise attack, the demon didn't see it coming until the box was too close to deflect. The demon turned its narrow head back and started to raise its swords, but the weapons were simply too unwieldy. The box smashed into its face with an explosion great enough to blast through stone.

"Ow hot hot hot hot! Not again notagainnotagainnotagainnotagnnottanotta!"

Lex screamed and whimpered, patting out the bottom of his trouser leg, which had caught fire. He took a deep breath and rested for a moment on his high perch.

"Lex, are you alright?"

"Yeah, uh… not really sure how to get back up there, though."

Beneath him, a small pack of undead hounds had gathered and were snarling at him.

"Could you take care of this?"

Another firebomb blew away the dogs, though Lex winced a little.

"Thanks. I guess I'll just try to figure out another way up. I think there was a path at the end of this road. Don't go too far into town – I'll try to head you off."

Oscar nodded, then turned back. Lex sighed, slipped his vestment on, then cast a healing spell.

 _For long, the hero had journeyed alone._  
 _Far from home, a nomad._  
 _Never waver, in faith clad._  
 _Blessed by gods, their purpose had._

His body holding together a bit better now, the cleric hopped over the railing again and dropped to the balcony beneath him. Like the demon in the Asylum, this one had dropped a key when it died. He picked it up while trying not to look directly at the smoking ruins of the demon's exploded head. Placing the key safely in a pouch, he headed out of the checkpoint and into the narrow, overgrown streets of the lower Burg.


	3. Thunderstruck

Lex couldn't imagine how long the town must have been abandoned for the streets to be so totally green. For his own sanity's sake, he assumed the small trees had already been there to provide shade. Still, it wasn't merely that grass was growing up between the paving stones – no, grass was growing from the stones themselves, pitted from wear. Even large weeds and ferns which reached to his knees ran rampant for as far as he could see.

As he passed through the town, every window was shuttered, and every door was locked if not boarded shut. Had it been to keep the burghers from entering dangerous buildings… or was it to keep dangerous burghers isolated, where they could hollow without harming anyone? Permanent house arrest certainly wasn't as cruel as the Asylum, but it was functionally the same. Still, with all the greenery around him, he could hardly imagine what he had foreseen. There was only the tangy smell of wild growth and the must of old wood. He'd not caught a whiff of blood, iron, or flame.

After some time, the road narrowed as it approached an intersection. The path ahead curved to the left, and in the distance, he could see it led to some wide stairs. To the right, the path led through a short tunnel under one of the towering buildings. The way was simple – he needed to climb back up, so the left path. He'd hardly had time to decide when a noise startled him.

The doors of three of the houses around him were kicked open all at once. Red-eyed hollows with knives in hand and hoods to conceal their faces jumped out at him from all sides. He screamed in what was mostly panic and fell over backward while their blades flashed overhead. As they turned, crouching and ready to pounce, he scrambled away on all fours.

"I'm a priest! I don't even have any money!"

The thieves, of course, were long hollow. He knew that and that there was nothing that could be done to stop them. They would continue to follow their instincts blindly. They would accost travelers and take whatever they possessed, regardless of value. Hollow thieves were all the more dangerous because he couldn't take advantage of their doubts or arrogance.

He looked down at his equipment. This wasn't a great situation. His robes wouldn't have provided any real protection even if they weren't in tatters, and his scourge would have difficulty harming them despite the lightness of their bradded leather armor. He probably only had one Ancient Pulse miracle left in him. If he used it now, what would happen if he ran into a more dangerous encounter later?

On the ground, he should have been at a disadvantage. Against hollows, however…

As the first one tried to clumsily stab downward at him, he bucked like the ass he was. The hollow fell back into one of its companions, sending them both to the ground. The cleric rolled to his feet, lash in hand, and struck the last one in the head, where there was no armor. His strength wasn't anything to speak of, but the hollow was incapable of reacting. The iron studs left welts of course, but the leather strands themselves twisted the mindless thing's neck around.

There was a crack, and the head slumped unnaturally. The thief simply moaned and slashed in retaliation. Lex tried to sidestep, but in doing so, stumbled over the other two hollows, which were just starting to regain their footing. He swore under his breath and pressed against a wall to rise. The narrow street made fighting awkward, but hopefully, that would prove an advantage against their numbers.

With them already at his feet, he kicked the pair of hollows over a third time to stall them while he dealt with the last. Still against the wall, he had to scuttle awkwardly to one side to avoid a throwing knife. In return, he whipped up the crossbow from his belt and shot the hollow in the chest. At this range, he couldn't really miss. Still, the undead was durable, and it walked drunkenly toward him, its balance thrown off by its broken neck.

It lunged for one final strike. With nowhere to dodge without throwing himself off-balance, Lex took a risk. Dropping the unloaded crossbow, he swung his lash at the incoming knife. As the thongs wrapped around the thief's wrist, he tugged it toward him. Instead of into his gut, the knife pierced only his vestments before clanging against the brick behind him.

With the force of its own attack, he threw the hollow into the pile with the other two. With all three incapacitated, it was a simple, if gruesome matter.

He swung his lash, and the thinner leather protecting the thief's back tore. He swung his lash, and the armor gave way to bare flesh. He swung his lash, and the flesh was red with welts. He swung his lash, and blood began to trickle. Again and again, he beat it, until it gave up the souls that kept it moving.

Then he started on the next one.

Undead could be winded by spurts of activity, but their forcibly-animated bodies could never truly become tired. Still, Lex was panting by the end of it all, purely from the mental strain. He had disciplined younger acolytes before, but this was just disturbing. Swallowing hard, he took one of the thieves' grisly knives just so he would have a killing weapon.

Honestly, he wanted to just sprawl out in the grass there for a while. Of course, that wasn't remotely safe, and Oscar would be waiting for him. As he forced himself to straighten up and continue, something caught his attention.

The cawing of a crow.

A carrion crow, a normal-sized one, spiraled down from above. It alighted on the pile of corpses and screwed its head up at Lex. It hopped onto one of the thieves' heads, then looked at the cleric again. It pawed at the head, looked down at it, then looked up at Lex.

Confused, the man crouched and reached toward the bird slowly. It hopped to the stone beside him as he took hold of the thief's head. The crow rolled its own head and looked at him expectantly. Lex turned the head in his hand. The crow rolled its head again. Lex flipped the whole body over, and the crow nodded approvingly.

It hopped away again and pointed at the next corpse with its beak. Understanding now, Lex laid out all three bodies face-up. The crow gave an affirming bark, then fluttered up and onto the face of the nearest body. Its head dipped quickly, then cocked around to face Lex. It held one of the thief's hollowed red eyes in its beak. The cleric shuddered.

The crow, however, strutted right toward him. It held up the eye expectantly.

"Uh. Do I really…"

The crow stared at him intently.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

Lex reluctantly untied a pouch on his belt and extended it to the crow, wincing. The bird dropped the eye into it, then nodded. It proceeded to pluck out each eye and place them in the bag together.

"I thought 'eye for an eye' was a metaphor. This is disgusting."

The crow cawed disapprovingly.

"I don't want to hear that from someone who eats decomposing bodies."

It cocked its head to one side and gave him a mean look. Before he could reply, it gestured behind itself, then took off. It didn't gain much height, instead flying into one of the houses where an ambusher had been hiding. Lex sighed, then followed.

There wasn't much in the house. It was a single room in a tall, narrow building which loomed as high as any cathedral. There was a small bed, a table, and other essentials. The crow ignored all of this, landing in the far corner of the room. As Lex rounded the table, he saw it. The carrion crow had of course found a corpse.

Lex couldn't tell who the person had been. A wrap of black cloth masked its face, and when removed, he found only the shriveled husk of a long-dead hollow. Still, leather armor dyed black as midnight didn't exactly lend itself to a reputable profession. The crow was tugging at the armor's straps. It looked up at Lex and cawed.

Before he could ask for clarification, it fluttered about and pulled at the tattered end of his vestment. The cleric sighed.

"So you want me to wear a dead thief's armor?"

The crow nodded.

"Fine. At least there's a shield too. Not that it'll help much."

True enough, while no weapon could be found, the body was holding onto a small shield, suitable for parrying and little else. Lex had been lucky with his counterattack earlier. He wasn't about to pretend he had the combat skill to parry anything reliably.

The crow bobbed its head contentedly, then turned about. It took off, flying out the door and out of sight without a second thought. Lex sighed again, then set to the task of stripping out of his charred robes and figuring out where all the straps on the armor were. It was a minor delay, but despite the reluctance he had about graverobbing, the armor made him feel a little safer.

It was also very snug and reminded him that he hadn't been able to scratch that other "itch" since he had become undead. If nothing else, the end of the world meant that he wouldn't need to confess the sin of lust every week. He pushed the thought of attractive undead women out of his mind and crossed his palms over his chest.

"Oh, Lady Berenike, I thank thee for the gifts thou hast bestowed upon me. The gift of a powerful miracle. The gift of trousers that flatter my ass. My only complaint, my lady, is that thy spiritual animal is a sarcastic bastard. In thy name I pray. Umbasa."

He left the house and continued along that upward path he had seen. What he had mistaken for stairs was actually a ramp, which made more sense. Logs had been lain across it, wedged against the wall on either side, in order to ease the climb. It was a similar setup to the stones on the ledge leading up from the shrine.

The grass ended just past the first log, letting the fine work of the paving stones show. The light dimmed on the ramp too. He looked up to see balconies and walkways crossing the sky. It must have been that the wild vegetation lacked enough sunlight to grow there. Sure enough, the ramp had a torch every so often in order to keep the path from growing too dark.

After a few turns, he thought he had reached the end of the path, when suddenly, he ducked back. An undead hound flew past, just inches away. He screamed again, a little more quietly this time. Before he could even think, he'd swung his lash. The dog yelped and tried to jump back, but the cleric was driven by nerves. Just as quickly, he chased after it and beat it to death before he even realized what he was doing.

"No! Bad dog!" he shouted, beating the corpse.

Lex shuddered, then took a deep breath. There were likely to be more, and they were likely to have heard him. Lex looked down at the body. He licked his lips nervously, then started dragging it the way he had come. He'd hoped to reach the ambush spot, but he heard the patter of feet much too soon. He swore, then left the body in a corner of one of the bends in the path.

It didn't take long for the corpse to be found. Fortunately, there was only one other dog. It would have been difficult to fight more than a few of them at once. Really, even two would have been dangerous. The lean undead hound sniffed around for its companion's killer. Just as it turned the right direction, Lex stepped around the bend and caught it by surprise.

He stunned it with a quick swing of his lash, then hit it again before it could retaliate. With it staggered, he fell overtop it, getting it in a chokehold. Before it could get away from him, he used his new knife to slit its throat, draining its blood over his black leathers. He dropped the body and flicked his arm to clean off as much blood from his sleeve and knife as he could. He took a deep breath as he rose.

"I thought I was a prophet, not a cutthroat."

Lex continued the way he'd been going. As he reached the top of the winding ramp, he finally began to smell it, the oh-too-familiar scent of burning human flesh. Bile rose in his throat. Burning was a means for eliminating the undesirable. Waste, contaminated foods, the bodies of those who had died of disease. Heretics.

Forgetting wouldn't be as easy as leaving his scorched vestments behind. The path ahead split into a clearly-distinguished road without steps and a sidewalk with them. The ramp continued upward at a gentler pace now. There were no torches here, as the paths overhead had ceased, yet neither was their grass. The air and soil would surely be too dry.

An enormous pile of hollow corpses lay ahead, burning forever from bodies that could not be permanently destroyed. He felt a cold fury rise. Yet everyone here was dead. There was no target for his rage. Suddenly, the sound of doors being kicked open rang out. More thieves, waiting to ambush anyone distracted by the mass burning. Lex raised his talisman.

The thieves crumpled against the violet shockwave. A fight which would have taken a great deal of quick thinking and hard work to win had been finished in an instant. He needed to become more powerful so that he didn't have to ration his miracles so strictly.

The explosion had stirred another undead hound some distance away. It snarled at him. He snarled back. The hound yelped and retreated. Hollows tended to rely purely on aggressive instincts, almost suicidally so. It looked like this one could still remember when to flee.

The road here widened, then split, both paths leading ahead. The buildings on either side were of a more typical sort, though their scale was still boggling. He had been on their roofs earlier, true, but being able to look up and take in their entire height provided perspective. As he neared, Lex began to understand the last days of the Burg, even without what his foresight had shown him.

Barrels of drink, crates of food, and bags full of possessions littered the street. Extra wagon wheels lay along some of the walls. There was even one wagon which had already been fully packed, abandoned in the middle of the street. They had thought they could flee before the purges started in earnest. Where could they have even gone?

Lex grimaced. Where was he about to go? The left path led along the same level. The right continued upward, but that was also the path to the fire. Lex swallowed, then held his breath.

As he approached, he could hear his heart pounding in his head. It got louder and faster. He couldn't just hear it; he could feel it burning in his chest, hammering at his temples. His vision darkened. He shouldn't have been running out of breath yet, but panic was taking hold.

Up the stairs. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Around the corner. One. Two. Three. Four. Five, six, seven, eight. Nineteneleventwelve. Thirtefourtefiftesixte. Seveinitwe. Twunu!

Then it was over. He could still feel the heat of the fire at the bottom of the staircase, and the smell was just as bad as he remembered. Still, he was past the pyre, and that was what mattered.

He'd arrived at what looked to be the base of the outer wall. Ahead, he could enter the wall's interior or else, an enormous staircase wound up the outside of the building to the left. Though there might be weapons or such in the wall, he still had to find Oscar first. Up he went. The way into the building was blocked by an iron gate, but fortunately, the latch was on his side.

The room he entered had a number of slain hollows within. Lex glanced around for the cause and found his missing knight entering through a door to his right.

"There you are," Oscar said matter-of-factually. "I wanted to reach the highest point in the area to watch for you. As you can see, it was a tad bloody. What took you?"

Lex shrugged.

"I've only got about three uses of my attack spell. You saw me use two of them. Let's just say that fighting without miracles is a bit of work."

"That's fair. You're a man of the cloth; not a man-of-arms. You don't have a real weapon either. Your choice in armor is certainly questionable… but any armor is better than nothing."

"Oh, right. This was actually a gift of the goddess. Her crow came to me after my first battle and led me to what was left of the previous owner."

"A crow? Like the one which brought us from the Asylum?"

"Well, smaller, obviously."

Oscar nodded, then looked over his shoulder.

"Did you get a good look at the dragon?" the knight asked.

"Dragon?"

"I'm surprised you didn't see it. It flew overhead and touched down right in front of me. I'm lucky its wings didn't cast me off the roofs."

"By Ornstein, no! I must have been fighting at the time. But you seem pretty calm for having seen a dragon. I was screaming my head off every time a dog jumped around a corner."

Oscar crossed his arms.

" _That's_ what that was. Well, there's nothing I could have done about a dragon. No reason to panic before a certain demise. Fortunately, it took off just as quickly as it landed."

He jerked his thumb back the way they'd come.

"There's a bonfire a short distance from here. We can rest and plan our next move."

Lex nodded with a sigh of relief.

"I definitely don't want to go anywhere without recovering my miracles."

They passed through a few empty buildings and over several rooftops, all filled with the bodies of hollow guardsmen. Oscar was seemingly a one-man army. At last, they reached a particular square tower which stood alone. It was much stouter than the other buildings, and looking up, that was because it supported an enormous bridge.

Instead of immediately entering through the open arch, Lex stepped around and stopped on a lookout where Oscar had left the corpse of a crossbow sniper. Far in the distance, so far that he couldn't make out any details, was the shrine where they had started. Above it, then, was the parish they were meant to reach. Great walls rose from the sheer cliff, making it look much more like an impenetrable keep than a religious district. Destination in mind, he followed Oscar inside.

The two sat at the bonfire and relaxed. At last, the knight removed his helmet. Oscar was just as fair as he sounded, with pale skin, short platinum-blond hair, and crisp blue eyes. Still, serious as he was, it almost looked like wrinkles were starting to set in from frowning and knitting his eyebrows. Though they were probably the same age, he looked years older than the pampered and baby-faced cleric.

"So," Lex said after some time, "what are you here for? You said your family had a prophecy, but why you? Why now?"

Oscar nodded solemnly.

"I died. So did my father, the Count de Collunaires, and King Llewi of Astora. They did not return as I did. The royal palace was occupied before I could return. I had sworn my life to protect king and kingdom, but those were lost. It would have been foolish to throw myself at the defenders in the name of honor. And death ended my vows. Better to do what I could do only now that I was undead than to fight a fruitless battle."

"You said defenders? That sounds a little strange for hollows."

"Hollows did not end the Kingdom of Astora. We were all still too strong and clever to be overrun by the shambling dead. We were betrayed… no, we were the betrayers… The king, my father, and as many knights as who would answer the call fortified ourselves in the palace. We had provisions to outlast even a Catarinan siege.

King Llewi thought we could feast through the end of the world. The hollows would run out of souls eventually. Then, we could emerge from the palace and restore the country – the world, even – with our noble blood. We abandoned the serfs who had worked the palace grounds for generations, leaving them to the undead plague. It must have been one of the servants who let them in.

Most of us spent a great deal of time lost in pleasure. Feasting, drinking, or spreading the noble blood early among the palace maids. Before anyone had realized we were under attack, many had died. My command had been performing combat drills at the time. We fought our way to the war room and tried to hold the doors.

There were too many of them. They were all half-mad from hunger, fear, and hatred. We were overwhelmed. Personally, I was beaten to death by a towering beast of a man, with one of the palace's own bricks. I fear the others suffered worse fates."

The knight took a deep breath.

"How about yourself?"

"Well, I don't have quite so exciting a story," Lex said, shrugging. "I was the elder of two sons. My parents were merchants, and they were well-off enough to give me a monastic education. Problem was that I decided to stay. I'm no good at bluffing or haggling.

Besides, the gods gave us a great deal more than coin. It was a better investment for the long run to work for the owners of all the world, right? Of course, no matter how pious I might be, the archdeacon had some issues with my reverence. I had my attitude, and I had a bad habit of using my allowance to buy scriptures… outside of the Way of White canon.

Well, reading was one thing. Learning unsanctioned miracles was grounds for excommunication. Learning some of them, however… charges of grand heresy and execution."

"You're Carimin. The penalty for grand heresy is-"

"Death by burning. I'm surprised I came back, but I guess I shouldn't be. Saying I was pissed off is putting it lightly."

"And your Goddess Berenike saved you, is that right?"

Lex nodded.

"Yeah, I still don't know why. There wasn't a bonfire anywhere, but she built one. I hate to doubt her, but… she must have watched me die. Why, I don't know. But I owe her my life – unlife – whatever. So I'll ring these bells and do whatever else."

"I am no merchant, but that seems a fair trade."

A heavy silence followed. After some time, Lex stood up to stretch, and Oscar put his helmet back on.

"So, straight up, right?" the cleric said, pointing to the staircase.

They were in a storage room beneath the bridge to the parish. A long staircase ran up the walls, circling around several storeys.

"I'm afraid not. The stairs have crumbled midway up."

Lex rubbed his lips thoughtfully.

"Well, I did see an entrance to the wall on the other side of the bridge that we can try. It could have been a dead end too, but I didn't check. While we're here, though, let's try those stairs again. Maybe if they're not too damaged, we can work something out with the two of us."

The stairs were broad enough for two men to walk side-by-side if the one on the outside didn't mind the risk of falling. Instead, Oscar followed Lex, waiting to see if the prophet could see something he had missed. Just as the knight had said, the stairs ended midway up, deliberately destroyed by some blast.

"Well, if you've got that many firebombs…" Lex mumbled. "They must have destroyed the stairs to keep the hollows from getting up. Or to trap the burghers. Look, there's a platform with a ladder there. Whoever did this made sure that they were the only ones who could still get up or down. But that means if we can get me up there, I can just lower the ladder for you."

"How could you cross? You might be able to stand on that narrow ridge there. I can't see you getting any further."

"There's got to be some rope lying around. All we have to do is find enough of it that isn't rotten. Look up. The rafters still look pretty sturdy. We could tie the rope to a sack full of debris, then hook it over one of the supports. I could climb over to the ladder, and we'd be set."

"I think that could work," Oscar said, nodding.

The pair had already scavenged through many of the lower rooftops and had seen some odd bits of rope. Now, they expanded their search to the upper rooftops as well, and after an hour or so, had gathered enough rope to span the distance from the top of the stairs to the platform with the ladder. Lex quickly tied all the scavenged pieces into a single length.

"Why would a cleric be so skilled at knot-tying? I've seen sailors less talented."

"No reason! Just throw the rope."

Oscar sighed and threw the sackcloth full of fallen bricks underhanded. It arced loftily, shooting the narrow gap between a support beam and the ceiling on the first attempt. He tugged at the rope rhythmically, swinging the sack back and forth until it looped around the beam. He gave it one last pull to ensure it could bear weight, then handed the end to Lex.

"Nice! My turn!"

The cleric pulled the rope taut, then stepped off the last bit of stair and onto the blasted stone. He carefully avoided loose bricks and slowly but surely pulled himself across the gap. Seeing the plan was working, Oscar headed back down and waited where the ladder would be. Eventually, Lex ran out of room to walk and simply climbed the knots to the platform.

The ladder was sturdy and made to last; iron rather than wood. That said, it was covered in rust.

"Problem!"

"What is it?"

"The latch to lower the ladder is, uh, stuck. It's rusted in place."

"Try something. If worst comes to worst, I can remove my armor and climb up. Together, we can probably pry it free."

Lex grumbled and hit the latch angrily a few times. At last, he stood up and kicked it. He swore violently at the pain in his foot, but the ladder came free anyway. With the latch now stuck open, instead of gently releasing the ladder, the iron thundered down with its full weight. Oscar stepped back as it cracked the stone floor.

"There you go. I'll be up in a moment."

The knight couldn't climb terribly fast in his steel armor, but that gave Lex time to rub his sore foot. Reunited, they climbed the rest of the way to another storeroom like the one they'd just left. An archway led outside, to some sort of path beneath the bridge, but they agreed to continue up the final staircase to the top. As they made their way up, Lex cocked an eyebrow at some scorch marks on the wall.

Cheerful sunlight beamed overhead, breaking through the clouds. For the first time in a while, they weren't in the shadow of any giant tree or wall. A hollow soldier looked at them vacantly, but even it backed away cautiously instead of rushing at them.

A shadow passed over the sun.

"Dragon!"

Lex didn't need to be told twice. He quickly turned about before Oscar stopped him.

"We're, immortal, aren't we?"

The cleric winced at having his own words used against him but looked to the dragon nevertheless. It dove over the bridge, unleashing a stream of fire. The pair pressed against an inlet while the flame rushed past them. The dragon whirled about in the air and perched atop the gate to the parish, waiting for them. Lex squinted at it.

"Wait, that's not a dragon. That's a drake. A wyvern."

"Is there a difference?"

"Is there a difference between a knight and a hollow?"

Oscar was silent for a moment before continuing, "Let us hope we never encounter a true dragon."

"Well, under the bridge it is."

Oscar nodded, then followed the cleric back down. Past the archway, there was only a narrow space to walk around the bridge's sturdy support pillars, but it was room enough. Ahead, a hollow soldier stood blocking an even more dangerous ledge which was the only way forward.

"I'll go ahead with my shield," the knight said. "Back me up."

Lex nodded, and they moved forward. Just as they passed a pillar, however, another hollow charged from the side.

"Oscar, look out!"

Lex quickly jumped back, running around the pillar. Oscar retreated, using his shield to block his front while the pillar cut off the surprise attack. From around the back, Lex lunged at the attacker, driving his knife through the hollow's back. When the other turned to face him, Oscar thrust his straightsword past its guard.

"That was a close one," the cleric sighed. "I mean, falling from this height probably wouldn't even hurt, but you know."

There was an earth-shattering thud. The bridge rumbled, and flakes of mortar showered down on them. The drake craned its long neck over the side of the bridge. A terrible yellow eye the size of a man's head glared at them. There was a panicked moment of silence, then a twang. The drake roared in fury, spraying flame in all directions.

The pair quickly took cover behind the pillar.

"Did you really just shoot it in the eye?" Oscar hissed.

"I didn't think I would hit it!" Lex said, awkwardly trying to hide the crossbow.

The bridge shook again, and the wind roared with the beat of the drake's wings.

"Is it gone?" he hazarded.

The tremendous red body flashed past them. It curved back up through the air, rising to face the bridge supports.

"Other side!"

They scrambled to get on the opposite side of the pillars before the wave of flame rushed past them.

"What now, Prophet?" Oscar hissed.

"Well, praying wouldn't hurt."

Strangely, they heard laughter in response.

"That's right!" a voice cried.

The dragon charged the bridge, streaming fire all the way. Overhead, they heard the ringing chime that accompanied a miracle and the crackling of electricity.

"PRAISE THE SUN!"

An armored knight fell off the side of the bridge, a thunderbolt clenched in his fist. He arced through the air and hammered the bolt overhead into the drake's skull. Stunned, it wasn't able to pull up and clear the bridge, instead crashing right into the pillars. Its long neck stretched between two of them, and it instinctively clawed at them to keep itself from falling. The knight seemed unharmed by all of this, having quickly rolled off the beast's head and onto the ledge.

"Quickly, before it takes flight!"

The newcomer drove home another thunderbolt, Lex unleashed a wicked shockwave, and Oscar simply hacked at the more vulnerable parts of the drake's neck. The great thing screeched in agony and scrambled to escape, but at last, it gave a final shriek. Its stone-tearing talons went limp, and it fell from the bridge to the valley below, releasing a small fortune of souls as it did.

The stranger chuckled heartily, fists on his hips and chest puffed out.

"Magnificent! Now that is what I call jolly co-operation!"


	4. Double Vision

"Captain? Is that you?"

Oscar was incredulous. He removed his helm as quickly as he could get it off.

"Oho? Oscar! I haven't seen you since I became undead! How have you been?"

"Became undead? Captain, you…"

He sighed.

"I've been well, though I can't say the same for Astora. There was never any hope for it after you… departed. This is Lex of Carim. I would not have made it here without his assistance. Lex, this is Solaire, the former captain of my brigade."

"Any friend of Oscar's is a friend of mine! And it is always a pleasure to meet a fellow man of faith! I must confess, I've never seen that miracle before. Come, tell me about it while we walk. There is a bonfire above us, and I'm sure you could both use the rest after that scare."

They nodded and followed Solaire back to the storeroom instead of continuing on the narrow walkways. With the hollow guards slain by fire and the drake now gone, the high wall of the parish meant little with an open gate. There was indeed a bonfire just beyond it, but it had gone cold.

"Oh, forgive me. It seems to have gone out. I must have been gazing at the sun for too long."

He burst out laughing.

'Gazing at the sun?' Lex mouthed to Oscar.

The knight shook his head but said nothing.

Solaire continued onward and extended his bare hand to the bonfire. He wore mostly chain armor, with some light plate over it and a strange lack of gloves. Perhaps more strange was the tabard he wore, a brilliant white on which an amateur had painted a stony-faced sun. The same awkward illustration graced the back of his large circular shield. A plain and unadorned straightsword was his only weapon, but he hardly needed more with such command over lightning miracles.

Only, Lex wasn't looking at the knight. He wasn't even looking at the bonfire. He was looking at the statue which stood over it.

Just past the bonfire was a small pool with a pedestal at its center. Atop the pedestal was a statue of a mother and child. The woman wore long, flowing robes which parted to show her bare feet. She had wavy hair crowned by a three-pointed tiara. The infant in her arms smiled brightly, even though the faces of the statue were worn by years of neglect. The child clung to a sword as if a security blanket.

The prophet fell to a crouch, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hail, Berenike."

"Oh?" Solaire said. "You know the goddess' name? It was considered a sacred mystery among the adherents of the Lord of Sunlight such as myself. Ah, not that I mind you speaking it. Things like mysteries are meant to be brought the light of the sun," he chuckled.

Lex nodded.

"This is not the appearance she wears now, but there's no way I could mistake my Lady. It was she who brought me back to life and sent me to Lordran. I am the prophet of Berenike, Goddess of Dominion."

"Much more than a man of faith, then! This humble knight is honored to meet someone chosen by the gods."

Solaire removed his stovepipe helmet, tucking it under one arm. Like Oscar, he had the short blond hair and keen eyes that were the mark of an Astoran knight. Solaire's hair was long enough that it had to be swept back, though, as he had been undead and away from his homeland for longer. So too, it was darker, with shades of bronze, and his eyes were more of a steely gray. Where Oscar was the flawless noble knight of maidens' dreams, Solaire quite clearly had humbler origins.

He took a place beside Lex and knelt before the statue of the deities. Oscar shifted uneasily.

"Why didn't you say your goddess was the wife of Lord Gwyn? I thought she was some foreign deity of Carim. Who are the Berenike Knights? Why wouldn't the gods' queen command the Silver Knights of Gwyn, as did Princess Gwynevere?"

Lex shrugged.

"Politics, I think. Not like the gods don't have them. And of course, Goddess Berenike would prefer to be known for her own merit – not just as someone's wife or someone's mother."

Solaire hummed affirmatively, but Oscar looked like he still had questions.

"Okay, so some background, I guess," the prophet said. "Berenike was the tutelary goddess of Carim before the Way of White spread hundreds of years ago. She doesn't appear much in their scriptures because she didn't appreciate being reduced from the goddess of a whole country to just being Lord Gwyn's wife. She was the mother of Carim, mistress of the birds and beasts. Well, that's not quite right either.

Carim is the far north of the mortal world, but it's only the south of the Great Isle. Beyond Havel's Teeth, a young Lord Gwyn held court in the west and my Lady Berenike in the east. The north was the home of the giants, before Gwyn subjugated them. Because the mountains weren't so fierce in the east, Goddess Berenike came to be worshiped in Carim before her marriage to Gwyn unified the lands of the gods. Of course, the Way of White came into the picture much later."

"This is the first I've heard of this," Oscar said skeptically.

"Of course. Lord Gwyn is no longer among us, and the Way of White was founded to continue his teachings and guide us humans. It wouldn't want some of us following Gwyn's uncle, some of us following his wife, and so on. Why have all mentions of his firstborn been struck from scripture? What happened after Princess Gwynevere's marriage? Where is Princess Gwyndolin now? There are many mysteries among the gods, so the Allfather and the Church conveniently trim away that which would confuse us."

"I hate to think of it that way," Solaire said, "but he has a point, Oscar. We are taught that we must obey our betters because they are chosen by the gods, but what always happened when King Llewi came into conflict with his archbishops? The people grew bitter and fought among themselves over who was right. As an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight, I cannot agree with casting history into the dark, but I can understand that the Allfather is only doing what he thinks is best for us."

Oscar sighed but nodded at last. Solaire rose and turned right, away from the parish. Sunlight shone through a pair of small archways.

"Now, I will say a prayer at the Altar of Sunlight, and we can be on our way. I hope the two of you won't mind some company on your journey."

"Of course not, Captain."

"Sure. The more, the merrier."

Oscar tried to rest his frazzled nerves at the bonfire, but Lex followed Solaire outside. What lay beyond was a grand balcony. Docile hollows were scattered across it, all praying or weeping or the like. The sunny courtyard of course was overgrown with plant life, with morning glory vines covering most of the stone like a curtain of dust. The white-gold flowers were all turned up to the rays of light beaming through the clouds. Many of them grew on top of a collection of stones on an elevated platform.

Solaire knelt to pray in front of one of them, which on closer inspection, seemed to be a pair of legs. All the rest of the stones were pieces of the statue of a tunic-wearing man with a broad-bladed ranseur. Lex gave up on finding the head after some time and instead pondered what had become of the Storm God's childhood sword.

"Thank you for waiting," Solaire said at last. "Now, let's be off on our mission."

They rejoined Oscar, who had at last grown restless and was inspecting both the archway through which they had entered and the thick wooden grille which blocked the way into the parish.

"I give up. Captain, you seem familiar with the area. Could you explain this to me? There's no gate on the outer wall. The inner wall is protected, but look – the mechanism is on this side. Was all this built to keep something _in_?"

"Oh, so it is. How astute of you, Oscar. I hadn't given it any thought," Solaire said, laughing.

Lex's eyes went wide. He could feel the blood rushing to his head again, but this time, he knew what was coming. His vision left his body and even his present time. He saw the distant past.

Of course, the Undead Burg had not been built from scratch. It had been an ordinary town before the Curse spread. Even before the Burg, there had been the Parish. Long ago, it had been a monastery dedicated to Berenike and her followers. It sat atop a wooded hillside which towered over the clouds yet was beneath the splendor of the gods' own city. Situated between heaven and earth, only the most worthy could come to serve the all-seeing Goddess of Dominion.

When the Curse first appeared, she had brought the undead here. Her priesthood were as learned as they were wise, and they made great strides to understanding the nature of hollows. Yet Lord Gwyn had given his life to ensure the Dark would not rise from humanity. The second Lord of Sunlight, the God of War, had both feet on the ground. Cautious and pragmatic, he had expanded the monastery into a fortress of sorts.

The Burg below had originally been a town of humans who supported the Parish. Though they were not allowed entry to the parish grounds for fear of the Curse, shrines were built just beyond the gate, where the priests could speak to the faithful without putting them at risk. Only, the townsfolk fell anyway. When time came for the purges, centuries later, the path upward was destroyed so the burghers could not simply open the gates and flee to sanctuary amongst the priests.

Lex snapped back to attention violently, shuddering.

"Open the grille, Oscar. It was meant to keep the undead away from the burg before it fell to the Curse. It's just in our way now."

"Another vision?"

"Yeah. This whole parish belongs to my Lady. I can see…"

He grabbed his head as his left eye throbbed, then fully dilated. It slowly rolled upward, and a migraine set in as his mind struggled to process both his vision and the present at the same time.

"Ugh, I feel like I went ten rounds with McLoyf."

"Lex, are you alright?" Oscar said, offering his shoulder to lean on.

"Yeah, just, uh, I guess, getting motion sickness. I'm not used to the visions."

He gripped his holy talisman for support and shook his head as if to cast off the nausea. Solaire gave him a hearty slap on the back, laughing.

"Don't push yourself, my friend. These things take time. You don't imagine I just decided to throw lightning spears one day, and that was the end of it, do you? Miracles require practice just like anything else."

"Well, if only I could control when I got them," Lex sighed. "Anyway, I saw it. Everything. Sort of. We need to reach the chapel. The Bell is in the tower above."

Solaire nodded.

"Then let's not waste this gift the goddess has given us. Oscar, the gate, if you would."

Oscar pulled the lever, raising the grille to allow passage to a wide staircase. A handful of guards patrolled the stairway to the parish, but individual hollows were hardly a threat to a pair of knights, even if Lex was useless for the time being. Strangely, the patrols all seemed to be facing outward, to the sealed entrance. As the trio wound about a guard tower, they saw scorch marks on the ground in a few places.

"Lex, do you know what happened here?" Oscar asked.

The prophet just shook his head.

"I think I see things as my Lady has seen them."

His face darkened as what he said sank in. Had the goddess watched all those burghers die in the purges? She must have certainly watched him die at least. Was she cruel or just dispassionate? He tried to physically shake the thought off once again.

Once they passed through the inner wall, they saw the reason for the guard. There was no peaceful walk to the goddess' church hall ahead. Though the guards had all hollowed, countless soldiers formed a solid line of defense all the way through to the back. Pacing the grounds was a monstrosity of iron and flesh, an enormous fang boar from the eastern reaches outfitted in spiked plate armor.

Everything here was either blasted and cracked, black with soot – or it was terribly green, overgrown with weeds, ivy, or moss. Even here, it looked like the priests and other undead had been packing to flee. Perpetual fires burned hither and thither, only they weren't merely pyres for hunted undead. Each had at its heart a crude weapon of blackened iron or cracked bone. Even the top of the innermost wall had been blasted away by some fiery burst.

The amount of firebomb-powder required for this sort of destruction would be vast. How could a bomb of that size even reach the wall? Lex couldn't imagine wheeling a catapult up the mountain. Perhaps one could have been built from the woods surrounding the parish, but what purpose would it have served? The gate had been to keep the undead inside – what was trying to break in and why?

"Solaire?" he said absently. "Is there any way that drake could have done-? No, the weapons. Could something have worked with the drake? How long have you been here?"

"I am afraid I've only just arrived. Now that you mention it, the drake was quite well-behaved before your arrival."

"Well-behaved? It's a drake."

"The fellow seemed content to let me pass through to the Sunlight Altar. That is how I knew of the bonfire. Perhaps it simply wasn't fond of your scent. Not that I've been trying to smell you."

The knight chuckled innocently.

"Captain, that beast was aggressive from the first I encountered it. There must be something about _you_."

"Oh? Perhaps it simply liked my feather!" he said, pointing to the bright red plume rising from his helmet.

Oscar sighed.

"Nevermind, Captain."

Lex was pressing firmly at his temples, trying to stir up the blood flow. He held his breath and focused. After a moment, everything clicked, and his left eye rolled back into his head. The vision lasted for only a moment, but it was enough. The crashing of holy steel against stone flesh and the tearing of demon bone through human flesh.

"Oscar…" he said, swallowing. "That demon we killed after we arrived here. That was a survivor of whatever happened here. It caused the panic that led to the purges. It didn't have to lift a finger."

"That chaos demon on the wall?" Solaire asked.

"On the wall?" Oscar echoed. "We slew one in the lower burg. We thought it would be trouble later. We never reached the wall. Lex figured out a way up the broken stairs. We arrived midway across the bridge."

"Then we may need to circle back," Lex said seriously. "The guards held off the demons before, but there's no way that hollows could stop even one."

"Hold on, Lex," Oscar said. "Why are we here? To ring the Bell. Let's worry about one thing at a time. Once we're inside, we can think about making this parish defensible against a demon."

After a moment, the cleric nodded.

"How should we proceed, Lex? You know the lay of the land best," Solaire said.

"Well, I don't need the gift of foresight to see that's going to be trouble," he said, pointing at the fang boar. "One of these side passages should lead up to a walkway. We can try shooting it from there. The metal armor should be vulnerable to your lightning."

Instead of directly proceeding into the courtyard, to be charged by the boar or shot by the archers, the trio headed into the shadows. They checked locked doors and hidden alcoves until at last, they found a staircase which wound around the outside of a dormitory to a courtyard on one of its lower storeys. A few mindless hollows still milled about as if the parish had never been attacked, reading blindly from scorched books of scripture and lying in ruined beds without sleeping. The men left these alone, dealing only with the guards they came across. With the risk of another demon attack, Lex would have preferred to leave them as well, but it was too dangerous to run past hostile creatures in unknown territory.

From the courtyard, the trio could reach a bridge which led to nowhere. Its only purpose was for observation of the resident undead. With the attack, it had become a sniper's perch, where guards armed with crossbows could safely shoot intruders long before they could close to melee range. Of course, now it meant that there was nowhere for the snipers to run. They had only shortswords to defend themselves in close combat, and such meager weapons had no chance of penetrating the knights' shields.

At the end of the overlook, a slain knight hung halfway off the platform, fingers dug desperately into the stone. The armor on his back was torn open from sheer brute force. He had tried to climb up the wall to escape the demons, only to be struck from behind. Aside from the obvious damage, his armor was a medium plate, sturdy steel covering the broad, flat planes of the body. It looked like there had been thick skirts to cover his lower half, but those had been burned or torn away, leaving the armor looking quite revealing.

"A Balder knight," Oscar said, noticing it first, "from centuries ago. I had always wondered what happened to them. The Curse struck them suddenly… but surely, many could have fled on their longboats. They must have met their end here instead."

Lex nodded.

"It doesn't surprise me they went to the goddess. It is said that the holy Knight-King Rendal sought to pay tribute to the gods in person and tried to sail past Carim, in search of a port in Lordran. The wind and waves did the work of the gods and sent him astray. He was cast north and made land on an island of giants. Only, when the gods found him, he and the survivors ruled the isle from a small fort. He must have tried the journey again when the Curse overran Balder."

"A cruel fate," Solaire murmured. "None of us knew that Lordran suffered the Curse like the human world. For them to have fled the loss of their home, only to arrive in a land brimming with hollows. I imagine they would have been quite shaken. The appearance of the demons must have been too much for them."

Just as he finished speaking, they heard a whirring sound in the distance, followed by a thud of finality. Turning toward the church, they saw that the gate at the innermost wall had shut.

"Lex, is there another way in?" Oscar said.

The prophet nodded.

"First, we've got to get rid of the boar, though."

The horrid thing continued to pace through the open courtyard. Though it was a natural beast – for whatever the word meant in the context of a boar the size of a fishing boat – it was a feral hollow, with glowing red eyes. Its layered iron barding was far finer than even the Balder knights' plate, making the beast an unstoppable battering ram.

"Oscar, Lex, could I trouble you to draw it closer?"

They nodded and readied their ranged weapons. Oscar looked about him, watching the smoke in the air and the movements of the boar. He waited for it to turn, then drew an arrow and- Lex shot it suddenly, causing it to turn. The knight grumbled in the back of his throat, but sure enough, the beast stamped about and trotted toward them.

"If only you weren't hollow…" Solaire said thoughtfully. "We could have eaten well tonight! A hollow's meat would be much too tough!"

He laughed deeply, then drew his talisman back. A bolt of golden lightning crackled into existence. With a great throw, the holy knight cast it at the boar as if a mere hunter with a spear. The bolt skewered the enormous animal all the same. It tottered uneasily, then its legs gave way, and it slumped to the ground.

With the path cleared, the trio descended to the courtyard again. Lex guided the knights to a covered alcove which led beneath the surface. A hollow waited at the end of the passage below, quickly turning to flee. Lex started after it, but Oscar grabbed his arm.

"Let me go first. Knowing where to go doesn't mean to stop being cautious. You can point the way from behind. Captain, would you guard the rear?"

Lex and Solaire both nodded, and the three took their positions. Sure enough, there was an ambush awaiting them. Setting aside the addled hollows they had seen in the dormitory, even the noncombatants were ready to defend the inner parish. Oscar mercifully put down the hollow acolytes.

Ahead lay a great hall full of benches. Barrels and crates were strewn about the place, some still sealed; the open ones held either either dried fruit or salted meats. Hollows milled about the place. Some were docile, digging forks into empty plates. Others watched the intruders cautiously, waiting to attack.

Solaire removed his helmet and shamelessly fished in a barrel for some jerky that didn't look quite so dry. Lex shrugged and snapped into a pickled cucumber. Oscar kept his helmet on but relented to opening his visor. He ate nothing.

"See, this is trick to it," Lex said, waving at the cafeteria. "The mess has to be open to the entire parish. It wasn't originally designed with all the walls and everything. We can head out the other side and get to the church this way."

The knights nodded, and the trio slowly made their way across, though Solaire stopped a few times in search of something to wash down the jerky. After climbing a few levels, they emerged into golden sunlight. They were still on the outside of the wall, but they were close enough now that with the extensive damage, Oscar could throw Lex over if the cleric didn't mind a few broken bones from the fall. The light streamed over the parish in brilliant rays descending from the highest clouds. It was almost enough to distract from the smoldering ruin below.

Lex squinted, and Oscar lowered his visor, but Solaire stared at the light directly. His body straightened up, and he stretched his arms wide. Oscar seemed used to it, but Lex quirked an eyebrow.

"The solar sign? I didn't realize anyone still made it."

Solaire just laughed.

"Of course! The Way of White may keep written scripture to itself, but it cannot stop tradition."

'You'd be surprised,' Lex mouthed silently.

"It is pleasing that a prophet knows of it. Perhaps you can enlighten me with knowledge of your own goddess. What is that sigil, on the turret there?"

There was a tall spike with a flared end like a spear jutting from the top of the building, pointing directly at the sun. It had two large arms raised upward and connected by an arch. There were two lower arms pointed down across them.

"Ah, that's my Lady's seal. It's a sign that the building is under her protection, and she will not suffer even her Lord husband to strike it. While the seal stands, lightning will strike it alone – never anything on the sacred grounds."

"Oh! That is quite something. How strange that she fell into mystery. Perhaps she did not want her power used frivolously?"

"She has many servants but few who know they are. I wish I could tell you more, but I only met with her once and briefly. All the rest, I learned at the Cathedral and from lost scriptures I bought from looters."

Solaire gasped. Even Oscar seemed taken aback, though any reaction would have been muted by his helmet.

"I had thought you appointed prophet in a vision! To have met the wife of Lord Gwyn in person! Why, I cannot imagine what you must have felt!"

"I don't know. Awe. Terror, maybe? I could feel very little of her soul. Like a blind spot. You expect a god to be overwhelming, but this was like… silence, I guess. And that was more terrifying than any blinding light and glory could have been."


	5. Dream On

They passed into another building. The path meandered as much as expected from a settlement which was repeatedly built upon with no initial planning. Still, it wasn't long before they looked down on the wall from the other side. Guards were fewer inside the Parish's defenses, and even Oscar relaxed a little. It was easy going until they rounded a corner and found the narrow path forward blocked by a Balder knight.

The hollow guards looked only a little better than mere peasants. They were more alert and focused, if such a thing could be said about mindless, shambling corpses. The hollow knight here looked nearly alive – aside from the limply-hanging head and burning red eyes. It approached with the confident bearing of an elite warrior, a tattered cape drifting with its motions. In one hand, it held a straightsword with no adornment, and in the other, a kite shield featuring a silver thistle on a black field.

Oscar approached with his own sword and shield at the ready. There was barely enough room to maneuver – certainly not enough for Lex or Solaire to help in combat. Of course, having a priest with healing miracles one step behind didn't exactly hurt.

The hollow surged forward. Instead of using its sturdy shield as a defense, it raised the kite in front of its sword, taking the weapon in both hands. Shield and blade hammered down together for the blow, catching Oscar by surprise as they struck with enough force to crumple his block. The hollow swung its blade back the other way, stepping inside Oscar's broken guard. With little effort, it knocked away the intricately-decorated shield, and with a flourish, it drove its blade through his ribcage.

"Oscar!" Lex shouted, despite being right next to him.

Solaire only chuckled.

Oscar wheezed and slumped over the weapon. As the hollow knight began to withdraw its blade, it turned its head in confusion.

"Rookie mistake. Learn from this, Lex. Don't ever let an undead grab you."

Though Oscar was surely wounded by such an attack, he had taken the damage theatrically. The unfeeling hollow had been unable to see it but had been grabbed beneath the Astoran's collapsed body. With a military grunt, Oscar returned the attack, driving his sword through the hollow's exposed midriff. One stroke wasn't enough to put down the hardened undead knight, so he jerked the blade free and stabbed a second time. He let its hand run free of the sword running through his torso, seemingly unfazed by the impalement.

Only once he was sure the hollow had fallen dormant did he remove the weapon. The knight paused, examining the sword in the light for a few moments.

"Oscar, are you…?" Lex said.

"Oh, yes. Here. You needed a real weapon, didn't you?" he said, handing Lex the Balder knight's sword.

Oscar seemed totally unmoved by the small hole in his midsection. He simply sheathed his own sword and went to the flask on his belt. A quick swig of estus, and the wound flared golden orange with the healing light of the bonfire.

"Uh? What? What just happened?"

"That was dangerous, but nothing too terrible. A hollow is a hollow. We're undead, Lex, just like you said. We need to be careful, but we can afford to risk more. Our tactics must adapt to our dead bodies, or we will be outmatched by undead whose do. I learned something of this facing highwaymen on my journey from Astora."

Solaire nodded.

"I am glad to see you're putting my advice about thinking outside of your training to good use. Though I think your acting might have been a bit much."

"Noted, Captain."

"Oh, enough of that. We are not in Astora any longer. We are but two undead on pilgrimage. The only one we should address by title is the prophet."

He laughed at that, and pat Lex on the shoulder. Oscar handed Lex the sword before the cleric could say anything else.

"Ew. It was in you. And what makes you think I can use a sword?"

The trio continued straight toward the church looming over the complex. They didn't attempt to correct their path to return to the main road or to avoid any obstacles. Indeed, some passages and bridges had been collapsed to deter the demons' advance. Among these, some had been repaired, it seemed, and finding a path through was easier than it had looked.

At last, they arrived at a courtyard filled with hollow guards standing in formation. Just beyond them lay a side entrance to the church. Oscar raised a hand to stop the group.

"Ca- Solaire, how should we proceed?"

"Oh, does our prophet not have any say?"

Lex shrugged.

"Having seen how this place fell doesn't tell me anything about how the defenses are organized now. I could try to extend my vision in the present, but I don't know how I feel about using it three times in a row. My only suggestion would be getting a group of them to chase one of you so I can blast a bunch of them with one shot. I get maybe three uses of my attack miracle before I have to recoup my strength."

"Oscar, do we have any alternatives? I could thin the crowd with lightning, but then we wouldn't have any more to deal with whatever guards may lie within."

"Hm. I hate to say it, but we may need to use Lex's plan. A drawn-out fight only increases our risk until we reach a bonfire. Wait here. I'll be the one to draw them out."

"No, let me do it," Solaire said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Did you skip eating because you've put on weight? You're much slower than I remember!"

Solaire chuckled and started toward the waiting hollows.

"Allow me to be the bait until you're back in shape!"

Oscar watched him go, then turned back to Lex. He cracked open his visor and gave the cleric a serious look.

"Don't tell the captain how close I was to hollowing. Please."

He snapped the visor shut again to close off any questions. Lex just nodded stoically. After a few seconds, Solaire came running, a half-dozen hollow guards following him while he ducked and weaved out of the way of crossbow bolts. Just as he stepped past, the cleric stepped forward, raising his talisman. The dark shockwave bowled over the hollows without any effort, releasing their souls.

Still more came behind the body of the first group, and the pair of Astoran knights took the fore. They blocked the initial running attacks, countering with blows of their own before the next hollows arrived. Lex stood in the back, doing very little. Mostly, he gave a shout whenever one of the knights needed to watch for an incoming crossbow bolt.

Soon enough, the snipers were all that were left. The knights casually approached them with shields raised, letting the iron bolts bounce away harmlessly. When they drew close, the bowmen drew their shortswords, but there was no opportunity to use them. With the courtyard cleared, the three pilgrims cautiously entered the church.

It was brightly-illuminated from the many open-air windows and torches held by statues. The outside walls were upheld by many small, round pillars while the high ceiling was supported by immense, ridged ones. Channels were carved out of the walls along the path to the front entrance, and in each alcove was a statue of a warrior woman with a spear of flame.

"Welcome," Lex said, "to the temple of Berenike, Goddess of Dominion; Mother of Carim, Mistress of War and Wisdom."

Only, it was too early to be grandstanding. The wooden pews were all smashed to pieces, jagged fragments spread across the room. The shape of the temple had blocked view of the distant altar from the side entrance, but something was thundering at them from around the corner. A tremendous pitch-black figure burst into view. A shield taller than a man smashed into the stone floor with enough force to spray the trio with shattered rubble. The figure turned on the impromptu axel and hurtled straight toward them.

"Berenike Knight!"

They weren't certain who had screamed first, but all three men dove for cover. A knight in tarnished black and silver armor drove past them like an unstoppable juggernaut. A wild, overhand swing of a cleric's flanged mace splintered the stone – and for good reason – it was the size of an uprooted tree. A hollow should have been slow, sluggish, withered. This hollow was more agile than any heavy knight should have been in life, and even wasted away stood half again as tall as any of the three.

It was a Knight of Berenike, straight out of legend. Few were left who could remember if Berenike was a nation, a knightly order, or even a goddess, but few could forget the tales of the "other Black Knights." Mortal men, equal to the least of the gods. Omens of disaster.

Just as Lex had said, the thing's borderline-literal tower shield bore a crest of an egg-shaped gem with four wings. Its helm had a high crest like a perched crow. There was no faceplate, giving them a clear look at the knight's mummified face. Its eyes were gone, but there was no red glow to replace them. Still, that didn't seem to affect it as it turned to leer at Lex.

The cleric quickly stumbled to his feet and backpedaled while the Astoran knights rushed in front of him. The hollow looked down at either of them, then to Lex again. After a moment, it took a step back, then knelt. It placed its mace and shield at its sides and crossed both arms over its chest.

"Oh!" Solaire chuckled, "Well, I didn't expect that."

"Lex, this pose…" Oscar said.

"Right. The sign of submission. Well, unless one of you two are secretly a god, I'm guessing it somehow recognizes that I've made a covenant with the Goddess."

He stared at the hollow for a few seconds.

"Rise."

The Berenike Knight gripped its equipment and returned to its staggering height.

"Lead us to the altar."

It groaned, then turned the way it had come. The trio followed hesitantly, returning to their marching order in case of a surprise attack from the hollow knight or from behind. The area in front of the altar was untouched, save by the ever-present mildew from years of moisture buildup in the drafty church. Every bench was in its proper place, and the floor was free of broken stone, fallen bodies, or demonic scorchmarks.

Before the altar was a flat, rectangular sarcophagus decorated with patterns of wheat. A woman in tattered robes lay atop it, still posed with her arms crossed, even in death. The sarcophagus had wings rising from its head and two smaller sepulchers on either side. The altar itself was flanked by twisting candle stands in the shape of trees, two birds rising from each one. It sat at the foot of yet another statue of the goddess and her Firstborn.

The walls featured complex reliefs. Two goats and a lion gazed up at the goddess, while a man offered an egg of some sort. They all stood upon a wheat field while lightning streaked across the sky. Lex took some time to study the work, but not too long.

The woman lying upon the sarcophagus was peculiar. She wore robes which despite their tattered state clearly resembled those of the goddess' clergy. However, her eyes were missing, and her soul lingered in her body, untouched by any undead. More concerning, it was not the familiar blue-white wisp. Rather, it was a horrid star, gray as ash; like a burr that oozed.

Lex tried not to stare and gave the woman a wide berth. He submitted before the altar, gesturing for Oscar and Solaire to do the same. The hollow knight stepped past them as they did so. Oscar jumped back to his feet, but it wasn't attacking. It watched, looking to the far side of the church.

The Astoran followed its empty gaze. In a gallery above the main entrance stood a figure in robes of turquoise and gold. The man held a trident in one hand, but it was too far for Oscar to make out any further details. At last, Lex rose, and Solaire followed suit.

"Well, if praying _here_ didn't get me a message from the Goddess, then I'm guessing we're on our own. I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing with this big guy. Hey, Tons-o-fun, what am I supposed to be doing? I mean, it's great that you stopped attacking us and all, but when I learned this parish belonged to the Goddess, I was kind of expecting some more instructions."

The hollow moaned vacantly. It raised its shield, and pointed to the dead woman, then turned back to the man in robes and jabbed its mace at him, groaning with something resembling fury. It smashed its mace on its shield several times as a challenge. The man in robes seemed to be looking right at them, so he must have noticed. Still, he didn't so much as shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"Okay, that's probably the most direct instruction I've gotten since becoming a prophet. Solaire, can you bean that guy from here?"

The knight shook his head.

"I have no doubt that the Lord of Sunlight could strike a target from any distance, but I'm afraid that my lightning disperses much sooner. It is difficult to keep its shape visualized when it is at a great distance."

"Right, right, I think I remember something about that from a sorcery tome. Something like having to focus to keep magic in the right shape after its gone a certain distance or something. It's why sorcery is just blobs, since they're easy to keep focused. Hm. Well. Looks like you're up, Oscar."

"Do you really intend to attack someone… just because a _hollow_ told you to do so?"

"Well, when you say it like that, yeah, it sounds a little questionable. But it also sounds like that guy's a graverobber or something."

"Sounds like?"

"It's not like I'm going to go up and ask him."

"Are you… able to use your foresight at all?"

Lex licked his lips.

"Maybe."

He squinted at the figure in the distance, clutching his talisman just in case it was necessary. Again, he had to resist nausea as his perspective flew out of his body. The man's robes were terrifically ornate, gold hemming the edges as jagged lightning. A train of interlinked medallions fell down the front in a pattern of five-four-five, with the highest in the center having eight rays like the sun. He wore a tall mask with a crown and a beard – and three pairs of eyes crudely painted. The skirt of his robe likewise was patterned with eyes, which the prophet somehow knew counted exactly one-hundred.

Abruptly, the pattern ceased being a pattern. The helmet turned to him, and the eyes were painted no more. One hundred blinking eyes gazed at him. The man reached out to touch his spirit.

Lex jumped back, falling into his own body and tumbling over the altar stairs.

"Lex, are you alright?" Oscar said quickly, jumping to help him.

The cleric gurgled in the back of his throat and dry heaved.

"Oh, Goddess, you should have warned me. I'm going to be sick. I'm going to throw up all over your altar for this."

"What is it?"

"Oscar, give him some space. He needs air."

Lex swallowed hard, then took a deep breath.

"So, the guy up there has a lot of eyes on his robes. Big deal. Common symbolism. They came alive. They were looking at me, at whatever I use to see different things. He was going to grab me."

"I can see how that would be disgusting, but wasn't your reaction a bit strong?"

"I don't know how this works! I don't know what would have happened if he _had_ grabbed me!"

"Alright," Solaire said, gesturing for Lex to calm down. "You're safe now. How would you like to deal with this fellow?"

"Well, I know what my the Goddess would want. His eyes. All of his eyes."

He groaned as he stood up.

"I think I'll settle for punting him off the balcony."

"That's the spirit!" Solaire said, clapping him on the back. "I think."

They walked around the church until they found the staircase. A Balder knight blocked their passage up, but its holding the high ground actually made the encounter easier. Oscar simply crouched with his shield held high. While it struggled to deal with the obstacle without falling over, Solaire squeezed past Lex and simply stabbed it a few times.

As they wound the perimeter of the upper level, they began to hear strange whispers – chanting in a language foreign to the tongue of the gods. It was not merely peculiar-sounding but slightly painful, like the buzzing of an insect directly on the skin. Through the pillars, they could see the man in the distance. He held his trident in both hands and hopped about in a circle while shaking it wildly. There could be no doubt he was the source of the horrid noise.

"Can you hit him from here, Solaire?" Lex whispered. "I'm not sure I can take much more of this."

"Weren't you supposed to enjoy pain?" Oscar mumbled.

Solaire ignored the comment, saying, "I believe I could. However, if it does not slay him at once, he will be more cautious. We have not seen what he is capable of, so that may put us at disadvantage. At this distance, there is no way of knowing whether he is hollow or sane still. Had I not seen the Berenike Knight, I would have thought him surely aware. I will trust in your judgment, but there are few things more dangerous than a desperate undead."

"Oscar, I don't suppose you could disarm him at range?"

"Not without time to practice. And certainly not without a stronger bow."

Lex sighed.

"What about my sarcastic comment about punting? What if we rushed him, and I used a pulse to blast him off the balcony?"

"Well, it is not a _bad_ plan," Solaire offered.

"There is a great deal of risk. We don't know what traps he may have set. He may have been waiting here for a long time. Even if it succeeds, he may survive the fall through undead resilience. What would we do if he fled?"

Lex nodded and rubbed his lips in thought. When that didn't help, he gave himself a quick lashing, inhaling sharply as he did so.

"That's it! We'll get him to chase us. Oscar and I will charge toward him. Solaire, shoot him while he's distracted. Oscar, when we get close to reaching the room where he is, we're going to stop and run back the way we came. With that trident, the corners in this passageway will limit his range. My shockwaves? Can go around corners."

"A marvelous idea! It is only fitting that a miracle of the goddess should defend her church. Did you perhaps study the art of war at your cathedral?"

"I can't say I didn't. I studied a lot of things that were less than useful at the time. You know, before I studied the things that got me killed."

"Let's hope this _doesn't_ ," Oscar said, stretching to warm up. "Ready when you are."

Lex nodded and leaned over to stretch his calves.

"When I give the signal."

He took a deep breath and paused for a moment. All of a sudden, he struck himself and shot off with a burst of energy. Oscar shook his head and followed after more slowly so as not to tire himself out. Behind them, they heard the chime and crackle of Solaire's lightning. Just as they turned the corner, the robed man shrieked in his strange language, bolts arcing from his gold-lined robes.

Countless heads turned to stare. More hollows than the pair could count filled the room, empty red eyes leering. Each had an aura of sorcerous power about it, a faint blue glow. They wore only rags but carried various sorts of broken weapon.

"Oh, so this is where the congregation went."

The sorcerer uttered a blasphemous command and gestured with his trident.

"Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope!"

Lex almost knocked Oscar over, sprinting backward without looking. While they struggled to pull apart, the hollows nearest the door lunged toward them. At last, the pair hurried down the hall, hollows nipping at their heels, slashing the walls with mad swings.

"Solaire! Solaire, start shooting!"

At the first corner, Oscar slid to a stop and took a quick slash at the nearest pursuers. Lex, desperate to keep moving, ran right past him and into the wall. He bounced, then rolled off the pillar he'd struck to throw his momentum the other way. The knight turned quickly and followed after. Their third companion stood at the far end of this hall, peeking around the bend.

Solaire turned back to get a better angle through the pillars. He arced his talisman overhead and hurled a bolt across one hallway and into the next. It struck a hollow at the back of the pack and shattered, striking down several at once. An underhand stroke followed. Just as Lex and Oscar crossed the center of the hall, the bolt struck down a trio of hollows clawing for their backs.

Without a break, Solaire whipped his arm forward again like the prophet's lash. As the pair wheeled around the corner, he raised sword and shield, ready to hold back the horde while they caught their breath. Oscar hunched over his knees, inhaled sharply, then rose to help Solaire with his own shield.

Lex leaned against the wall, panting. He turned and looked back between the pillars at the mass of hollows that had followed them. There he was. The sorcerer approached slowly, arrogantly, as if it were a leisurely stroll through a courtyard.

"Lex, we can't hold them!"

The magically-empowered hollows struck with the force of beasts. The shields of strong Astoran steel were beginning to develop gashes from blades of rusted, broken iron. The knights could only attack carefully between the furious swipes. They wouldn't last much longer.

"Lex, give up on the surprise! We need that miracle now!"

The cleric grunted, glaring at the sorcerer. Without a second's hesitation, he jumped toward the knights, thrusting his talisman over their shoulders. The pulse burst forth, washing over them harmlessly but shattering the hollows' bodies and releasing countless souls as a faint fog. Still more rushed in, and the knights held them just long enough to reach critical mass. A second pulse blasted through the mob, and the trio pushed back into the other hallway.

There were still scattered hollows ahead who charged now that the path was clear. Oscar and Solaire had no issues cutting these down as they charged blindly. The danger was the sorcerer, who stood in the center of the path, not caring as his thralls were cut down. At last, he held his trident before him, clutching at the air with his free hand. Soul power flashed a blinding white before his sun-shaped medallion.

The sorcery took the shape of a spear-sized bolt and hurtled toward Solaire with a shriek. The knight grunted and took a step back as half the energy passed through the shield to strike him directly.

"Lex, Solaire, this isn't a hollow."

Oscar pointed to the sorcerer's hands with his sword. Though the masked man wore bracers, his palms and fingers were exposed, a pale, fleshy color without the wrinkles or cracks of hollowing.

"I am Oscar de Collunaires, presumed Count of Astora! Name yourself, if you speak the language of the gods!"

The sorcerer chuckled maliciously, though it nearly sounded like coughing coming from a throat so abused by that other language.

"Do _you_ speak it?" he hissed.

The voice oozed like pus from a wound. He stamped the butt of his trident into the stone and ground it idly.

"Tell me, ignorant slaves of Sin, do you know your mission? What it means?"

Lex's eyes narrowed. He glanced to his companions, but of course, he could intuit nothing from their helms.

"I am Solaire of Astora, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight! I have come to Lordran to seek my very own sun! What could be more simple?"

"The blind follow the blind."

The sorcerer thrust his trident at Lex.

"You, barbarian. She opened your eyes, didn't she? Let you see the echoes carved by the passage of souls and time. Did she show you the end as my master showed me?"

"What are you?"

"I am a channeler. I channel the everlasting enlightenment of the White Dragon, Seath."

"Seath the Scaleless?" Solaire said with wonder. "Duke of Anor Londo? Last of the dragons?"

The sorcerer's body went rigid, and he shot the holy knight with another bolt of force. Oscar snarled and charged the channeler. The world wavered, and as the knight's sword plunged into the elaborate robes, the channeler rippled and dispersed like a reflection on water. He appeared at the other end of the hall, amongst the countless fallen hollows.

"I was speaking to your overseer, slaves. Hatchling, that corpse below was a Fire Keeper. Know that a Keeper may only die when her duty is fulfilled… or it shackles her no longer. Gaze into her soul, if you would know what drove her to such despair. I was meant to take it for my master's studies, but I leave you in peace, 'Chosen Undead.' I look forward to your decision when your fool's quest drives you to my master's Archives."

He chuckled as he began to ripple again.

"Vereor Nox, or some say… Velja Noc."


	6. Queen of the Masquerade

"…what just happened?" Oscar grumbled.

"I have no idea. Wait, give me a second, I'll check."

Lex grasped his forehead and focused. He'd hardly entered the trance before he snapped back.

"Okay, maybe not! That was… utterly gruesome. Human vivisection, among other things. Ugh, I need to wash my second sight now. I didn't see much, but I'm not going to continue. Duke of Anor Londo or no, the dragon Seath is every bit the monster it looks."

"Then we should consider ourselves lucky that sorcerer left peacefully," Solaire said quietly. "…as much as I should like to bring him to justice now."

Oscar nodded soberly.

"We have little defense against magic and against a more mobile foe. My shield provides some protection. We can't rely on it to protect all of us. We'll have to think of some tactics. For now, we shouldn't be dispirited.

We are close to our goal. We must watch for that 'channeler's' return, but we should press onward. We are already about to ring the first Bell of my family's prophecy. We can ask whatever questions we wish of the Kingseeker that Lex spoke of, surely."

The two men agreed.

"Solaire, for you injuries."

Oscar handed Solaire the estus flask. The holy knight tilted his helmet back to take a quick swig, then returned it gratefully. Anxious to end the first segment of their journey, the three men continued into the gallery above the entrance. From there, they headed into a back room and climbed a series of stairs and ladders to the roof. A fog wall blocked their path outside.

Though Lex was still curious about it, Oscar hurried him through. They stepped out onto a slick, rotten roof of moss-green shingles. Worn grotesques lined the sides, a number of them missing without a trace. Ahead lay the bell tower, looming still higher over a church the size of which would make it the treasure of a human nation. Yet before they could cross the roof, they heard the cracking of stone, a terrible rumbling, and a roar.

They swiftly doubled back, climbing over the short steeple to see the ground. It almost looked harmless, so far below them it was, but there stood a bull-headed demon, stone axe the size of a wagon wheel in its granite grip.

"Ah!" Solaire said. "That was the demon I thought you had killed. It must have crossed the bridge when it realized the drake no longer blocked its path."

Balder knights rushed out to defend the church, taking poised positions around the beast. It snorted and took a wide swing with its axe. Three hollows fell in a single stroke.

Lex gave Oscar a pointed look.

"This is why we should have stopped earlier."

"I must admit, I did not see this coming. But I am no prophet."

Lex grumbled.

"Anyway. We need to get down there and kill that. The Berenike Knight can probably hold it off, but I don't think any hollow could stop it."

Solaire nodded.

"We must protect the temple of Lady Berenike!"

"That shall be quite unnecessary."

Again, they heard a rumbling from behind. One by one, the grotesques groaned to life. They had faces like monstrous hounds, gnarled bodies like men, and bats' wings which had once been feathered. They roared and one by one, dropped from the roof, their tattered wings barely able to support them in the air. They crashed to the temple stairs below in formation and rushed the beast as a pack.

A low swing of the axe, and carved stone was split in twain. Just the same, claws tore into the demon's back. It roared and stamped its feet, swinging its axe like a whirlwind. Another grotesque shattered, but the others stepped onward without fear. They piled onto the beast, even as it crushed another of their number beneath a stone fist. Eventually, their claws found purchase, and the demon went down, a terrible gouge in its throat.

With a roar, the grotesques turned back to the church. They dug their talons into the walls and climbed into their customary positions, leaving a few more empty pedestals. The demon's corpse and the bodies of the broken grotesques alike lay on the stairs atop fallen hollows as if it were perfectly natural.

The conflict over in a flash, Lex and Solaire finally turned to look at the stranger who had spoken. Oscar, of course, had been watching the suspicious fellow who had snuck behind them rather than a battle which would never reach them. The stranger wore all black leather, a greatcoat and a mantle making him look quite imposing in spite of his advanced age. Beneath a helmet which exposed only his eyes and chin were deep-set wrinkles and a glint of silver hair. The front of the helm was an elaborate silver mask like a crown, and a similar clasp held the mantle in place.

"Greetings. I am Oswald of Carim, the Pardoner."

Lex choked and fell on his face.

"My lord! Oscar, stop staring!"

"Who is this, Lex?" Oscar said, still staring.

"King Oswald of Carim, saint of Berenike."

"Wasn't your king Aetheron? Have I been undead longer than I thought?"

"Calm yourselves," the Pardoner said. "Rise, my friend. Young knight, I have been undead for well over three hundred years. Thou art not to blame for ignorance of an historic name."

"Wait just one moment!" Solaire said suddenly. "How is it that a saint of Berenike became a Pardoner of Velka? Lex, I must insist you be wary of this man. The church of this man's goddess is shrouded in secrecy. The goddess herself is spoken of as a witch with powers not befitting a deity. The Pardoners themselves whore the very concept of absolution in the eyes of the gods."

"It is only human to commit a sin," Oswald said lightly. "Thou mayest find thyself unable to abide by the strictures of a covenant. Perhaps thou struckest a friend in anger. Not all those seeking absolution commit unspeakable crimes. All sin is my domain, from pure white to pure black. My Lady is blind to its pallor, and so absolution is based upon what one can give rather than what one has done."

Oscar's hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

"You deflected the question."

"Accept my sincerest apologies. I shall speak of it, but only to my fellow disciple of the Goddess of Dominion. My sinless knights of… Astora, is it? Please, by all means, proceed to the Bell. I give you my word that I shall return your guide unharmed."

"There is no-!" Solaire started, but Oscar stopped him.

The elite knight gave Lex a long stare, then started toward the belfry. Solaire hurried after him, shouting in confusion. After they'd gone far enough that the holy warrior's voice would muffle anything said, the Pardoner began.

"I do apologize. I hadn't realized thou wast using that old name. I should have noticed – an adherent of one traitor wouldeth surely suspect another."

"Well, the Goddess herself used that name when she spoke to me. I'd assumed it was part of a deliberate concealment."

"In part. It wert a test of thine own ability. A black cleric should beeth as clever as he ist assured in his faith. Thou wilt go far if thou dost not go hollow. It ist no simple task to deduce our Lady's mainstream moniker from its origin. Come, ask your questions, Seer of Sin. We have time before thy companions ascend the tower and return."

Lex closed his eyes and relaxed.

"Alright, easy. Why me? I mean, sure, I'm great, but… I didn't exactly unite the eastern half of the Great Isle and bring war to the lands of the gods."

The Pardoner's old lips curled into a crooked smile.

"Ah, but didst thou not listen moments ago? Our Lady ist blind to the magnitude of one's sin. Thou art a blasphemer and heretic the same as I. It ist that nature to trespass upon the sacred and unearth secrets long buried that the Goddess findeth precious. In that sense, thou art not special. Thou art simply the only Seer who hath survived this long in, oh, a score of years, perhaps? The path wath once easier, but perhaps thy penchant for making allies more than accommodatest for thy lateness."

Lex bobbed his head.

"Fair enough, I guess."

"The Lady's justice ist always fair."

"That's not even the same- oh, whatever. What about crazy-eyes? The… channeler, right? Were you leaving him here, or did you just suddenly appear from nowhere?"

"I travel where I am needed. The crows can beeth quite silent when there is call for secrecy. As for the channelers, if thou hast bested one, I am quite impressed."

"No. He taunted us and left."

"Then that wert a particularly talkative fellow. The channelers and their dragon have long been enemies of our Lady. They see much, as I imagine the fellow toldeth thee. Yet for all their eyes, they are blind. They see and memorize but do not understand. They cannot make the leap of faith required, for they are sorcerers who believe only their eyes."

Far above, the Bell of Awakening tolled, echoing across the valley of Lordran.

"I believe there ist time for one question further. Speak thy piece."

"Sure. What's all this about, anyway? If the Goddess has a legendary deicidal king like you running around, why does she need to have a prophet? The Chosen Undead isn't canon to the Way of White. Did she spread that old legend herself?"

"That ist more than one question, young seer. Suffice it to say that thou holdest a position of singular importance in our Lady's plans. As for myself, it would beeth terribly obvious if I were to begin meddling in events. The Goddess did not obscureth her form for her Pardoners to gallivant about the land, announcing her presence. Even meeting you to bestoweth her blessing revealed much."

Oscar and Solaire had begun to emerge from the tower.

"Our time draweth to a close. Takest this tome. It shall provideth further guidance and beeth the second test of thine ability."

The Pardoner made an elaborate show of handing over a heavy book, bound in black leather and bearing the same symbol which hung over the church.

"Blessings of the goddess Berenike beeth upon thee!" he said loudly, so the knights could overhear.

Lex bowed.

"Thank you, Pardoner. I'll do as the Goddess wills."

Oswald turned to face the knights.

"Ah, the heroes return! Welcome back, my friends! You have my congratulations for ringing the first Bell. You will find the second to be a greater test. Take this as thanks for allowing me to speak with the prophet."

He drew a marbled gray and black stone from a pouch. It seemed to ooze without actually changing shape. A grotesque image of a skull floated on top. He extended it to Oscar in an open palm.

"A purging stone," the knight said grimly. "I have seen them among King Llewi's emergency supplies."

"The sort that cure curses?" Solaire asked.

"The sort that absorb curses," Oscar said. "Curses aren't broken so simply. This stone was once a human… or many."

"Why you rotten Pardoner!"

"Calm thyself, friend! Necessity ist the mother of sin. Goddess Velka willeth that many should die to save the life of one hero. Not all can beeth saved. I ask thee, brave knight of the sun, wouldst thou rather sacrifice a village which swiftly approacheth hollowing or thine fellow knight?"

"I would not-!"

"Thou wouldst refuse to _choose_. That meaneth not that circumstance will not choose in thy place. For the Goddess who holdeth lives in one hand and the other, the choice must be made without hesitation. She wouldeth steal thee away from a grim fate just as the crow stealeth the wheat-seed from the harvest."

"Fitting words for such a mercenary deity! Don't let him fool you, Oscar! The Lord of Sunlight would sacrifice himself before any other, and so should we all!"

There was a pause.

"Solaire, we're in a dangerous land. A curse could mean the end of any of us. I don't like the idea of it, but there is no other way. Thank you for your-"

"Hold, Oscar," Solaire said, grabbing his arm firmly. "Pardoner. What danger of curses would we face? Surely, there must be another way."

Oswald clasped his hands in mock prayer.

"Oh, had I the eyes of a prophet. Yet I will spare young Lex the burden. The path to the second Bell lieth through the waste of Lordran, in which wretched and misshapen things make their homes. Among these are the basilisks, with deadly breath and eyes. The direct path willeth no doubt lead you through a horrid gallery of other heroes' cursed and petrified bodies.

As thou sayeth, Warrior of Sunlight, there may beeth a second path. In a time long past, a treacherous valley path ledeth from the gates of proud New Londo to the cavern which concealed the demons' capital of Izalith. If you all started in the Darkroot Forest, perhaps you could find a way deeper into the valley and to the sealed city's gates.

The second Bell lieth in an ancient watchtower. The Great Lord subdued the demons at terrible cost. After his passing, the God of War ordered the tower built to watch over the demons' land and ensureth they never returned to strength. Yet you have seen that demons prowl these lands in daylight. It ist late for a warning, but the Bell must be rung so that Anor Londo knoweth of the demon threat."

"At least you recall this duty," Solaire said, sighing. "Thank you for your assistance. Oscar, Lex, let us be off."

"Wait a minute, Solaire," Lex said. "The Pardoner said there might be a path. It's not like we can turn the purging stone back into villagers. We might as well take it and just hope to not use it."

The knight shook his head.

"Surely you can see, prophet – if we take this stone, the Pardoner will have need of another. His rogue goddess would sacrifice more to create one."

"What happens if the path's a dead end? Sure, we can come back and get the stone, but who knows how long that would take? Another day on our journey might mean another village lost to hollowing. We're gambling with lives either way."

The dead air hung heavy over the church. After a moment, Solaire removed his helmet. He extended a hand.

"Let us agree to disagree, my friend. It was a pleasure to meet you, but as an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight, I must hold onto hope to the last. Our paths must diverge now if you seek the short route, but I trust we will meet again at the lower Bell? I will rest there for a time in the hope of meeting you – assuming you do not outpace me!"

After a vigorous handshake, he laughed heartily and turned toward the roof entrance.

"Oscar! Are you coming with me or do you wish to remain with the good prophet? I do not mind, of course!"

The other knight turned his head one way, then the other.

"Oscar, just go," Lex said with a knowing look. "You've babysat me long enough. I have the Goddess to watch out for me. I'm sure you want to spend some time catching up with your old friend. We'll meet down at the Bell, like Solaire said."

Oscar sighed and nodded. He too removed his helmet to say his goodbye.

"Thank you, Ivan."

Lex inhaled sharply.

"I'm kidding, Lex. I won't say that fighting through a town of hollows was fun… but I enjoyed my time with you. It was refreshing to meet a cleric who didn't have his head up his… well, even if you don't, I'm sure it would roll off your shoulders if it were not attached. Keep safe, Lex."

They shared a quick handshake, and the elite knight started back down.

"I wish you luck on your journey, young knights," Oswald said. "I shall remain here at the church, should you require my services. Hesitate not to call upon me. After all, it is only human to commit a sin."

He chuckled knowingly and swept his arms wide like a bird's wings. A moment later, and the two Carimin were left alone again.

"So, you're going to go with me right?" Lex said.

"Whatever gavest thee this notion?"

"Well, it's just kind of what's happened up to this point."

"The Lady haveth no wish for a servant who is unable to care for himself. Wast that not what thou just spoke of to the knight?"

"I was being sarcastic. When I said the Goddess would watch out for me, I was assuming it would be you."

"Oh, heavens, no. I will remain here to offer assistance as promised."

"Well. I am absolutely going to die, then. And not just in the 'you come back later' way. I'm pretty sure that most clerics who go on this pilgrimage at least have some combat training. I have a flail that I hit _myself_ with, and a hollow's sword that Oscar gave me, but I probably can't use without _also_ hitting myself. I've got one attack miracle, and it has three shots. I don't suppose the goddess hands out Gwyn's lightning? It looked like Solaire could throw bolts for days."

"Turn to the words of the Goddess," Oswald said, pointing at the book he'd given Lex.

The younger cleric opened the book.

"This is… who in the fiery pits of Izalith knows how to read braille? I think blindness disqualifies someone from making these long, dangerous journeys without an escort."

"Oh, wouldst thou like to confirm that? A prophet hath no need for mere eyes of the flesh."

The Pardoner laid one hand upon the hilt of his sword. He had been careful not to draw attention to it earlier, as the guard was a flattened version of the sigil which hung over the parish, and at its heart sat a black diamond like the one on Lex's ring.

"No! No, Your Highness. Saintliness. W-whichever."

"Crows may bark like hounds, but a servant of the Goddess must not whimper like a cur! Yet if thou fearest death so greatly, there are two blessings yet which I may bestow upon thee."

The Pardoner reached into a pouch and withdrew a dull ring. The common stone in it looked mossy, only it had been polished to a brilliant gleam.

"This ring willeth sacrifice itself for thee. The effects of thy first death on thy form shall be transferred to its own. It ist but a lesser artifact, however, and ist not proof against curse."

"Incredible! I'm guessing there just aren't enough of these to go around… I can only imagine what it would be like otherwise. Holy Beryf, a bunch of true immortals…"

"Quite so. Now, if thou wouldst follow, I will showeth thee the second gift."

Oswald crossed his arms behind him as he descended from the rooftop. From the gallery below, he followed a path opposite the one the trio had taken to climb. It led back along the aisle of the church. Chairs lined the wall so that the services could be watched in secrecy, though by whom, Lex could only guess. He wasn't about to stop the Pardoner just to learn about what were probably nobles embarrassed by their hollowing.

Balder knights guarded the path, but the otherwise mindless hollows parted at a gesture from the ancient black cleric. A pair of doors at the back, just above the altar, had been boarded shut. The Pardoner drew his narrow-bladed sword in a flash. Shadowed silver gleamed through the dark upper level, and he sheathed the blade once more. The boards fell away in the shape of the Goddess' sigil.

What lay beyond was revealed to be a cramped prison, but it was nothing so terrible as the Asylum. Once the Pardoner ignited the torches, it was well-lit and clean. There was only one prisoner, a knight in elaborate brass armor with an extra pair of arms crossed over the breastplate. They did not take the pose of submission but rather wrapped around the wearer. As there was no food, water, or chamberpot, it was clear the knight was undead.

"Lautrec the Embraced. Thou hast suffered in the name of thine harlot goddess. Dost thou think yet she will come for thee? She hath abandoned better men."

"Oh, Pardoner, forgive me my sins," the knight crooned with a voice like grinding stones. "Not all of us wish to serve a frigid bitch. They say your order wear masks to separate you from worldly desire, but it's really to hide your face, isn't it? Fina may sacrifice me, but I am her knight. You're all identical pawns."

"Then what a shame, that she lost a knight to a mere pawn so late in the game. But I come not to banter with thee, Lautrec. I come to grant thee release."

"You're toying with me."

"Would I do that?"

Oswald threw his arms wide and burst out laughing.

"Thy release willest not be without cost. I shall bind thee to an oath of service."

"Geasa are for the birds."

"It willeth not be something so detestable, Lautrec. Even thou wouldst surely accept these terms."

He gestured for Lex to come before the cell.

"This is Lex, an undead Chosen, and a countryman of ours. Alas, he lacketh the proper skills to endure the next leg of his journey without his knightly companions. I charge thee, in exchange for thine freedom, to guidest him through Blighttown without delay."

The knight had at no point looked at the pair. Now, he turned up his deep-seated helmet and gazed through the holes of the spotted visor. His view rested on Oswald for several seconds, then turned to look at Lex. He began to chuckle with utter malice.

"Of course. Anything for Carim."

"Very good! Then, dost thou, Lautrec of Carim, swear upon the Fire, upon the lightning of Gwyn, and upon the name of thy mistress, Fina, Goddess of Favor?"

"I swear! Now release me, you blowhard!"

The knight had risen and now grasped the iron bars with fury. At his sides hung a pair of sickles, the weapon of a farmer. Only, these were a curious crescent and had been sharpened to a wicked edge.

Oswald took a keyring from a pouch and unlocked the door. Lex awkwardly extended his hand.

"Hey. I'm Lex, the-"

The Pardoner looked at him.

"-the Chosen Undead, I guess. I was a deacon before I came here. So, you serve the-"

"If you have time for pleasantries, move your feet. I have my own mission to accomplish when I'm finished with you. One does not keep Goddess Fina waiting."

Oswald chuckled a little as he watched the pair go.

"Hesitate not to return, Lautrec! Thou art welcome anytime!"


	7. Lavatory Love Machine

Astora was the home of knights. From the lowliest peasant to pick up a sword to the legendary Abysswalker, the tale of every knight found its way to Astora. There, it would be transformed from a historical record or a bawdy bard's tale into the fable of a noble and tragic hero beloved by the gods. The western half of the western half of Thorolund's broken empire, it was a land of both noble lineage and noble spirit.

Of course, Carim, on the other side of the channel, didn't see it this way.

The Astorans were called many things by their neighbors, but the Carimin were fond of "two-faced." Many of Astora's "noble" tales had come from Carim. Carim was a land of intrigue shattered and reunited by various warlords like clockwork – but it was also the mortal land which had the grace to border Lordran, and so many of the tales of Lord Gwyn's court originated there.

Between Carim's hatred of outsiders and their lusty depictions of violence, the Astoran retellings of the stories were more widespread and accepted. This would have been a source of grumbling, but it was not nearly enough for an outright hatred of Astora. No, that came from Astora having the gall to claim the stories as their own, and in the same breath denounce Carim as a land of bloodthirsty barbarians.

Still, Lex wondered if they weren't half right. As he followed Knight Lautrec back through the parish and into the bowels of the burg, he saw quite clearly the source of Astora's judgment.

Oscar was a practical man. He didn't hesitate to use a surprise attack or take weapons or supplies from the dead. Yet he also didn't relish combat. He fought quickly and cleanly, dispatching his foes with body blows and using his shield to avoid retaliation.

Lautrec carried two weapons and used brutality as his shield. He drove his wickedly sharp sickles through ribcages and into backs. He tore individual hollows in half and broke or severed limbs when outnumbered. He held no illusion that a knight was anything other than a man raised from birth to fight and kill.

If nothing else, he was efficient. Combat didn't slow their progress in the slightest. Any time there was so much as a hint of danger, Lautrec would rush ahead and draw the enemies to himself. By the time Lex had caught up, huffing and panting, the hollows, dogs, or whatnot would be lying in a pool of whatever blood they had left.

"Hurry, Chosen Undead. You wouldn't want to keep your destiny waiting," Lautrec snickered.

"So… I… uh…" Lex wheezed. "What… why… yeah, why… why are you in Lordran, Knight Lautrec? Goddess Fina…? Right! Is the Sunset Isle overrun by the Curse as well?"

The knight snorted.

"Some curse. It grants immortality to the strong and makes the weak even more disgusting. No, I am here to settle an insult."

"An insult?"

"Yes, an insult. It is a matter between my Lady and the queen of Anor Londo, so stay out of it."

"O…kay…? So, how did you end up serving a goddess of-"

"I am sworn to guide you and nothing else. I don't want to be your friend. I don't want to make banter with you. And if letting you use your own two legs wasn't easier than carrying your corpse, I would gut you like the fish you smell like."

Lex's mouth snapped shut. Now that he thought about it, Oswald hadn't sworn Lautrec to keep him alive. It was implied but not in the explicit wording and so didn't count. He had best not irritate the schismatic knight.

"Don't get me wrong," Lautrec said wolfishly. "I know how to play nice. The intrigue in using you and your misguided prophecy would be trivial. But the strong have no need of deception."

He grumbled.

"Not like that wretch, 'Trusty Patches.' If you wish to do any good in Lordran, kill that man as soon as you see his bald head. And find different armor – you look like birds of a feather."

The knight hardly seemed talkative after that, so Lex kept his mouth shut. They continued until they'd reached the end of the road. Across the bridge was the checkpoint where the demon's blasted corpse rested. It seemed as if a black sheet had been lain over it. Only, as they drew closer, the sheet moved. Countless carrion crows took to the sky, leaving not even bone behind.

"Damned birds!" Lautrec snarled. "You listen to me, cleric. They're watching us. I know the Carim Way of White is lax about little heresies-"

Lex snorted.

"Listen to what I say, cleric! Everything we do here makes it back to that witch. You may call me a traitor to Carim, but believe me when I say the gods of the Black Rites are traitors to us all. You should sooner trust a pyromancer than the likes of that Pardoner. I swear it on the honor of Goddess Fina."

For emphasis, the knight raised his hand. Bound into the bronze of the gauntlet was a diamond-shaped brass ring. Lex squinted to see the relief engraved on the front, but there was no need. As difficult as it was to make out, he could tell it was a plant. It was mistletoe, then – its unexpected kiss symbol for the goddess of fateful beauty and fated encounters. It was a more subtle sign of a covenant than Lex's own glittering black diamond.

He nodded quickly. Arguing would probably just end with a blade in his gut. Satisfied, Lautrec continued onward. They turned and followed a tight staircase embedded in the wall to the long alley beneath the bridge.

"Well," the knight added, chuckling, "Black Rites or no, you can rely on that fool Warrior of Sunlight. I could hear him shouting all the way from my cell. If you don't believe my warning about the Pardoner, take _his_ to heart."

The path ahead curved along the wall but was otherwise straightforward. A few inlets and side passages made for natural ambush spots, but the sun remained frozen overhead. In daylight, the veteran warrior had no trouble finding the hollow thieves before they could attack. The pair circled far about the burg, until at last Lautrec stopped at a broad door.

It was made from sturdy wood and was banded and studded with rusted iron. A heavy latch ensured it could only be opened from the outside, and a heavier lock ensured that only few could do so. A grille allowed one to look in or out, but Lautrec didn't bother.

"The key," he said, extending a hand. "You have it, don't you? I'll string you up if you make me track down that idiot for it."

Lex adjusted his collar.

"Yeah. Here."

A narrow staircase led them down into the upper room of a building on the inner wall. The torch here had long gone out, and the windows were shuttered. Lex tried to open one while Lautrec patrolled ahead in the moldy darkness, but it seemed they had all been bricked shut. Barrels and crates lay about the room. They held lean foods, heavily salted and meant to last. Below was a brief sound of struggle, and the knight signaled Lex down the next set of stairs.

The wall sconces on this level were likewise dark, but light rose through the arches overlooking the large chamber below. A handful of hollows in ragged uniforms milled about. It was a mess hall, full of long tables. A towering figure loomed over a counter in the distance, illuminated by a cooking fire. A scent wafted toward the pair.

"That almost smells like…" Lex murmured.

"Don't get too hungry," Lautrec chuckled. "That's the savory scent of human flesh."

Lex swallowed uneasily.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

He glanced at Lautrec as the knight crept ahead, then covered one eye. He stared deeply into his palm, straining his vision until it blurred into the past. This was a prison. This had been the mess hall, where the few female prisoners cooked for the rest of the complex. Food and water had been brought down from the burg above.

"Why would they turn to cannibalism? They still have food left."

"You're green for a Chosen Undead. They were hungry for humanity. Feasting on human flesh is the easiest way for undead to stay human. Why don't we stop for a bite to eat? You look like you could use some meat on your bones."

Lex could only imagine the smirk under Lautrec's helmet. He didn't need to be reminded that he had lost his human form, a divine blessing bestowed upon man by the gods. He hated to think what his own face looked like – his hands resembled jerky. Oscar had been desperate for help, but frankly, he was surprised that Solaire had been so kind to someone who looked hollow.

"Let's not give the Astorans any other reasons to think we eat babies," he said, shaking his head.

"Then make sure to stay out of sight. Blighttown can be reached through the burg's sewers, but not even my Goddess knows the way through the maze. We'll keep out of sight and avoid needless combat until we find a bonfire. I know it's hard for you clerics, but we'll have to plan carefully."

"Me, Solaire, the Pardoner – why do you keep going on about clerics? Aren't you a holy knight?"

"Listen here. I was hand-picked by the Goddess. This armor is a gift and the symbol of my devotion. You are a mere supplicant. You were provided nothing and have been reduced to wearing a thief's garb.

I know what it's like in Carim. Every day, the old traditions are pushed deeper into the depths of memory while the monasteries and cathedrals seek favor with the Allfather in Thorolund! He will be the end of Fire if he refuses to let the Silver Rites change with the times."

"What do you mean? The Way of White grows with every day. The prophecy of the Chosen Undead isn't canon, but it does direct undead pilgrimages. The paladins work great acts of valor in the name of the gods."

"The Allfather hoards relics of a brighter Flame. He will be forgotten once they pass from his possession – Grant and Sanctus have already been lost. Lloyd rigidly keeps to Gwyn's last commandments because they are his only claim. He's an overgrown bureaucrat who believes only in power, more unmoving than the stone dragons. The Way of White has been reduced to mindless brutes who only follow orders, as blunt as their weapons."

Lex frowned. The knight wasn't completely wrong. It was hard to defend an order which would burn someone alive for learning more about the gods they served.

"Now, quiet. What did I say about bantering?"

Lautrec crept down the stairs, but it was difficult to be quiet in such heavy armor. The pair hardly cleared the bottom of the stairs before hollows charged them in a starving fury. Some wielded broken weapons and others, torches lit with the fats of human meat. Each of the knight's attacks were breathlessly quick. Without making a sound, he dispatched the hollows as they approached, lest others hear and swarm them. A quick wave of his hand cautioned Lex to save his magic for an emergency.

The cleric was naturally drawn toward the light below. Quietly, he walked around the bench tables and looked over the railing to the level beneath. Undead dogs with putrefying flesh rested contentedly before cauldrons stewing human meat. Only one human seemed to be present, the towering cook. He- no, she- held a cleaver the size of a man's leg, effortlessly splitting a slab of meat from something too large to be any animal the deacon knew.

The cook was a hideous mountain of rotting muscle with sackcloth covering her face. The glowing red eyes of a hollow long gone mad peered out, scanning the darkness instinctively. Lex could only tell the cook's sex with the benefit of his second sight. Now that he knew, though, he could see something a little feminine in the way she moved.

Before Lex had more time to think on it, Lautrec swore quietly and dragged him back into the shadows. The knight gestured down and gave him a shove. The cleric toppled over a ledge and down to a lower level. Past the stairs they'd just descended, arches lined the wall to provide light to a narrow passage. Lautrec hopped down and approached a door.

"The Goddess rewards faith, cleric."

The door led to another staircase, which in turn led to a small room. Fortunately, it was lit by a long-worn torch, but unfortunately, it smelled utterly rancid. Lex noticed a corpse in an alcove to the left. It still held a glowing clump of souls in its twisted chest.

"The Goddess rewards, right?" he said as he began to wade toward it.

"Stop!" Lautrec hissed. "Are you really fool enough to believe a reward would be left so clearly in the open?"

The knight looked around slowly.

"There," he said, pointing at the ceiling with his shotel. "There is some manner of trap which will fall upon you. Leave the souls. There's no sense in drawing attention to ourselves."

The path wound deeper into the underground complex, though through shallower water. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but along the outer wall, Lex could make out more sealed windows and a few collapsed passages. Worse, most of the windows were above privy holes. Without a doubt, they were walking through human waste.

Torches were rare, so he followed carefully after the gleam and clank of Lautrec's armor. He wasn't sure he could get lost in the straightforward passage, but he wasn't about to take the chance either. Hollow attacks came on occasion, but they were never more than the knight could handle.

Eventually, they came to a long, straight passage with a high ceiling. A single hollow stood at the far end, torch in hand. It was reasonably well-lit in the hall, and there was no sign of danger. Naturally, Lautrec held up a hand in warning. His eyes scanned the dark corners of the room, eventually settling on the ceiling.

"There. More of the same trap. It's time to start pulling your weight."

"Uh oh."

"If I get caught in a trap, what can you do on your own? On the contrary, if you get caught, then I will be able to continue clearing the path while you make your way back from the bonfire."

"What makes you think it would be fata-? Oh."

"Yes, if it were too cumbersome a trap, it would be faster to simply kill you. Do you think you could do the same? Kill an ally in cold blood?"

"…fine."

"I'm glad you're so accommodating. Little wonder you're the Chosen Undead."

Lautrec chuckled to himself and closed the distance to the first trap.

"Time to earn your pay, cleric. No tithes here. Try ducking under it and then jumping back. Or you can endure it. Judging by your choice in weapon, I'm assuming you're from _that_ Cathedral."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You're using a farming implement."

"Harvesting, actually. The Goddess' own priests use sickles of holy brass to cut the sacred blossoms from archtrees. The only blossoms your order has seen are the jagged tears on your backs."

Lex grumbled. Lautrec had crossed his arms smugly, which looked stupid overtop the false arms already crossed over his breastplate. The deacon inhaled and almost said something. He thought better of it and turned back to the passage ahead. No sense in getting his escort angry before they'd even reached a bonfire.

He took a few steps back, then dashed diagonally toward the trap. He circled around quickly, just barely avoiding the thing as it splashed into the ankle-deep water. The cleric shuddered in disgust as the rancid water sprayed on him, but he kept going until he was safely behind Lautrec.

The thing that had fallen shuddered and pulled itself forward. It was an enormous clump of rotten flesh, bones sticking out at odd angles. The center was dense with blood and other humors, and the composition thinned as it neared the edge, which constantly trailed black waste. Somehow, the thing was alive and slowly approaching.

With a grunt of distaste, Lautrec gave an exploratory slice. There was some resistance in the middle of the swing, but the blade otherwise passed through it cleanly. The split ooze simply melted back together.

"Physical attacks are out," he grunted. "Hm. You said you had offensive magic, cleric? I thought your cathedral specialized in protection and purification."

"It does. I got this… uh… 'elsewhere.'"

"Well, what can it do?"

"It's kind of like Force, except it actually kills things."

Just as he said that, the slime lurched forward. It swelled up, then flattened, expelling hideous, multi-segmented talons. Lautrec quickly ducked to the side, then took a few steps back. Lex covered his mouth.

"Oh my Gwyn! I'm going to be sick."

The limb skittered like a dying insect as it retracted. Lautrec ignored the outburst and looked to the ceiling.

"That's… five, maybe. How fast can you run, cleric? I'm not expecting much from a bookworm, but do you think you can make it to that hollow?"

"Make it to the- What? Even if I could, it's going to set me on fire with that torch while I'm huffing and puffing."

"What are you afraid of? It's just a little fire. Don't you burn heretics in your Cathedral?"

Lex took a deep breath. After a moment, Lautrec chuckled.

"Oh, that's how it is. Well, my apologies, friend."

He shoved the deacon toward the slime.

"Get over it. You're going to die a lot more if you don't toughen up. I can't imagine what that Pardoner sees in such a frail Chosen one."

Lex looked back to the knight and then up at the slimes on the ceiling. The one on the floor rose up and lurched at him, but he casually stepped to the side. Nothing to do. Lautrec was oathbound to guide him, but there had been nothing about fighting in that deal. As the son of merchants, Lex should have asked the Pardoner to write a formal contract.

"Goddess, give me wings," he whispered.

With an awkward yell, he charged forward. He ran between the first two, but then directly under the third. It plopped on his head without fanfare, leaving him gargling sewage and struggling to pull it off. Lautrec groaned.

Eventually, Lex had flailed enough to shake it loose and stumbled backward, gagging. By now, they'd all dropped to surround him.

"Knight Lautrec, now!"

"No, you've earned that. I'll let you work it out yourself."

"This is why no one likes Carim!"

Lex dug into the pouch on his new thief's belt and withdrew the lock of black hair. The darkness around him glimmered a sickly purple, and the slimes rippled in sympathy. At once, they all popped like mucus bubbles, spraying the deacon with their rotten contents.

"No, I really… really… am going to vomit."

He held on for a few seconds, eyes bulging with willpower. At last, he spun around and spewed out the snacks he'd eaten in the parish. The vomit splattered over an iron fence to a lower level. He squinted at an object a short distance away. It was a pile of human corpses twice as tall as a man and twice as wide as it was tall. Already sick, he gave a dry heave and spat out a mouthful of stomach acid.

"This is… not what I… thought a holy mission would be like."

"Get used to it, cleric. The world outside your cloister is dirty."

"Even the land of the gods?"

"The gods aren't so different. Now get up. You have a duty to those dirty gods."

Lex shuddered and turned on his heels. He bowed his head and raised the talisman again.

 _A sacred vow to keep, only for her_  
 _For hunters does she weep_  
 _For their souls she sings to sleep_  
 _To find rest in waters deep_

The talisman glimmered with umber light, and the sound of the tide rolling in echoed through the chamber. With a wave of gentle power, the filth washed away from the deacon. Lautrec stared at him for a few moments, then moved on ahead. He slew the hollow with the torch casually before turning to descend the next set of stairs.

At the bottom, something black and stringy slowly writhed over the floor. It nearly looked like hair. Lautrec hazarded tugging at it with one of his shotels.

"Vines. I should have known. This place has been corrupted by Chaos."


	8. Sharp Dressed Man

"Chaos?" Lex said. "Then we know where the demons came from. Wait, they can't fit through half these tunnels. What in Izalith…?"

"'What in Izalith' is right. The second Bell is in the guard tower that marks the edge of the Demon Ruins. I'm only bound to take you through Blighttown. What monsters you encounter past that point are yours to face. I hope you're prepared."

Lautrec chuckled and stepped on the vines uncaringly. Lex awkwardly stretched over them and followed. Through another fence, he could catch a glimmer of water below. In the distance, he heard it roar as it poured over a ledge. His attention was quickly drawn to an enormous shape moving in the darkness. He saw his reflection in a beady eye the size of a man's head. A gigantic rat stared up at them. It was covered in boils and rotten flesh, and what looked to be an axe was dug into its left eye socket.

"Oh, I am not looking forward to this."

However, he was also not looking forward in general and walked straight into a wall. The cleric rubbed his sore nose and chased after Lautrec into the next tunnel. Rats the size of dogs scurried away from them as they came upon a wide, winding passage. Narrow walkways lined the walls, while debris floated atop stagnant water in the middle. There were countless passageways leading in all directions, but most of them had been sealed.

A fog of dander and urine hung heavy in the air. There was a strange, flesh-colored gelatin which was strewn over everything. Clumps lay in the water and climbed the walls. Some of the passages which were not cemented shut were instead overflowed with the goo. Even Lautrec tried not to stop on it as it crossed their path.

After a while, they caught sight of the giant rat again – it was on their level now but still on the other side of a sturdy iron fence. Lautrec paid it no heed and continued wandering the winding halls. Through a narrow passage, they passed a number of chutes leading to drainage pits. Certainly, the pits were a way to the lower levels, but the experienced knight wasn't about to jump down a mysterious hole without a way back up.

Eventually, they came upon a fog wall, which blocked the way ahead.

"Soul fog," Lautrec said, turning back to Lex. "Are you ready in case of a fight?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. What is this anyway?"

"Imagine that, something a cleric doesn't know. Soul fog marks where worlds cross one another. Usually, you see them around powerful souls who can exert their will on the surroundings enough for it to be considered a different world."

"In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog… So Lord Gwyn united all worlds with the Sun. As the world darkens, it must be growing fragmented again."

"That's a question for the gods. I asked if you were ready for a fight."

"Oh, right. Yes. As much as I can be."

Lautrec nodded and dispersed the fog, unleashing a blinding light. The chamber beyond stretched further than they could see, illuminated by a gaping crack in the distant wall. Lex shielded his eyes and anxiously held his lash. Hopefully, it wouldn't be another demon.

They stepped out of the water to the sound of medals jingling. As they crossed the square platform on which they found themselves, a channeler of the White Dragon stepped in front of them.

"Oh, what an unlikely pairing," he said with a voice like the grinding of a millstone.

Lautrec wasted no time, breaking into a dead sprint. The channeler readied himself, holding his trident to break the charge. The knight didn't stop. The polished laquer teeth of the trident drove into his chest, a fatal blow.

Lautrec kept going.

No matter how heavy a sorcerer's equipment, a dedicated spellcaster had no way to defend against a knight's strength. Lautrec grabbed the trident with both hands and drove forward, throwing the channeler over the wooden railing to the level below. A group of bear-sized rats bristled at the fall. The knight kept his momentum, leaping atop the railing.

He tore the trident from his chest with a bloody spurt and took one final step.

"Death to the Duke!"

Lautrec rode the trident down, returning the blow he had received moments earlier. Before the channeler could react, the knight jerked the teeth in the sorcerer's chest and again. The channeler's limbs went limp. The rats circled nervously, hesitating to attack. Lautrec growled, and they scampered away.

"I thought you would have learned this, cleric. No hesitation for the enemies of the gods."

"But Duke Seath-"

"Have you heard nothing of the Duke's experiments?"

Lex unwillingly thought back to his vision.

"I have."

"Then know that some of his test subjects were _unacceptable_."

Lautrec said nothing else but continued onward. The chamber was enormous, true, but only the highest level of walkways was accessible. The floor was many storeys below, and there were no ways leading down. He turned into another water-filled passage, leaving Lex to follow.

They wandered through the criss-crossing paths but only found tunnels leading back up and more drainage pits. Out of safe options, they returned to the first waste chute they had found, which was the one closest to the inside of the maze.

"Can you guess what time it is, cleric?"

"Time to earn my pay?"

Lautrec kicked him in the back of the knee, and his leg gave way. The current dragged him into the hole with subdued plop. He bounced off the sides of the chute, then splashed into a pool of ankle-deep water at the bottom. Though the flow hadn't been much from the hole he'd fallen into, drains from the entire complex pooled into the same chute, combining into a torrent of human filth raining on his head.

He crawled forward, coughing and gagging. When he looked up, he saw some sort of tiger-sized black lizard. It had enormous yellow eyes atop its head which bobbed as it moved. It stared at him blankly, giving off a sort of low, continuous croaking.

"Heeeeey. Don't you attack me. Nice li-"

Wait, he actually knew what this was. It took a deep breath, its neck sack expanding to nearly match the size of its body. At the end of the Age of Ancients, the world had produced a sort of natural defense against the rise of Flame. The creature exhaled a dense gray mist just as he thought about it. The lizard was a basilisk, of course.

Its eyes held the power of Death, and its breath returned to unliving stone the upstart creatures of Flame. Creatures like a cleric who had no clear escape. Lex swallowed and dived into the pool of muck. The ancient lizard raked at his back with short claws more suitable for gripping the slick floor than attacking. Still, he was trapped under its weight and didn't have the constitution to hold his breath for much longer. Underwater, he couldn't even cast a spell.

He bucked once, twice in a vain attempt to throw the basilisk. At last, he resigned to sliding himself along the slimy bottom. He grabbed the edge of a walkway to the side and with great difficulty, rose to take a breath. The basilisk cocked its tiny head and looked down at him. That close, he had a good view of the creature.

The bulbous eyes were a decoy. Its real eyes were tiny, beady things which had looked like nostrils before. Its mouth was shaped like a beak but was full of poisonous, needle-like teeth. It croaked in his face with a vapid look in its eyes. The sound was familiar somehow, but the threat of it sneezing him to stone was more concerning at the moment.

A violet shockwave peeled the flesh from the lizard's face and splattered the bouncing false eyes on the wall. Lex grunted as he dragged himself out of the filth. He sat against the disgusting wall and looked back at the exposed skull, teeth falling out. In between the eyes, there was a knot that glinted in the dim torchlight.

Morbidly curious, he bent forward and scratched at it. The bulb came loose without much effort, rolling into his palm as if it wanted to be there. He leaned backward and raised it into the light. It was an eye. It was a stone eye the color of the filth all around him.

"Great. The crow didn't even have to make me do it this time."

He stuffed it in a pouch and glanced up at the pouring water.

"Knight Lautrec! It's safe now!"

After a moment, metal clanged against stone, and the knight splashed into pool. He took a look around for danger, then turned to Lex.

"Basilisks too. By the Goddess, add necromancers and Darkwraiths, and we'll have all the enemies of the gods in one place. Not bad, cleric. Now get up. I doubt you want to be here any more than I do."

The tunnel was like the ones above, with walkways on either side of a channel. Sealed passages lined the walls. Only, this tunnel had sunken deep into decay. Despite water rushing in from the upper levels, it remained stagnant here because of the accumulated debris. The splintered remains of wooden structures littered the channels, trapped against the walls or stuck in dollops of slime. Half-eaten corpses rocked in the splashing falls, preserved by a thin layer of ooze.

Throughout the passage were crystalline statues. Aside from the geometric spines branching from them, they were too-perfect likenesses of men and women. There were escapees in uniform from the prison above and outcasts on the run. More concerning was the number of would-be heroes – knights and clerics and sorcerers. Lex felt his belt pouch to confirm the purging stone was still there.

The greatest difficulty in moving through the tunnels was simply getting around the debris which had piled up over the years. Rats the size of apex predators continued to plague them, but Lautrec's keen blades meant such encounters were short. At the very least, navigation was easier now. As polluted as the water was, it did still run slowly. Eventually, they would come upon a way down or at least a drain.

Suddenly, Lautrec stiffened. Lex doubled over with a headache. The prophet's eyes bulged in his head, blood pressing against its bounds. Their "world" had been invaded. A name whispered in his ears. The pulsing of a distant heart echoed through the tunnels.

"Here's the Darkwraith," Lautrec chuckled. "What about the necromancer?"

A figure stepped around the corner, footsteps in tune with the beat. It was pitch black, an eye-searing blood red limning its features. It wore ruined plate armor, a studded leather skirt identifying its make as native to a "barbarian" country without the sophisticated metallurgy to make more articulated armor. A country like Carim.

The armor was torn and twisted by gnarled thorns which pierced its surface like knives. Where the armor had broken away entirely, stony vines had curled around the knight's limbs like a sadistic cross between a rosebush and an iron maiden. Indeed, the helm was little more than a cage. The knight's spiked round shield looked more like the shell of some horrible creature, and the matching straightsword looked like the branch of a thorned tree.

"The Knight of Thorns…" Lex murmured.

"If you know, then get back. As excited as I know you must be to meet a man named 'Church,' you can't help in this fight. Just stay out of my way."

Lex nodded and took a step back.

"Wait, are all of our knights psychopaths?" he said quietly to himself.

The bronze-armored knight stepped forward to face the black phantom. Sickles shone in the torchlight. The red glow of the Dark flowed like blood down the thorns. Lautrec the Embraced stared down Kirk of Thorns.

Both men of Carim, they rushed headlong at one another. Kirk caught the first sickle swing on his shield, the thorns nearly tearing the weapon from Lautrec's hand. His counterthrust was countered in turn, thorns tearing through Lautrec's side and sickle digging into Kirk's back. The briars were alive, though. They lapped up the Embraced Knight's blood and sealed their host's wound.

Kirk bashed his spiked head into Lautrec's chest, forcing the other knight to twist to the side in order to free his right shotel. Kirk drove forward with his shield, trying to pin Lautrec against the wall. The holy knight slipped to the side, whipping his left shotel around to try and slam Kirk into the wall instead. Abruptly, Kirk's torso twisted sideways, independent from his hips. The warped warrior caught the shotel with the spines on his sword and used the torque from his twist to punch Lautrec in the face with his shield. The Embraced Knight fell back, spitting blood through his visor.

"Goddess have mercy! You really are a monster!"

Kirk rushed forward again, shield raised. Lautrec feinted a wild attack from the left, then quickly flipped his right blade up and behind Kirk's reach, tearing the shield away. In response, Kirk stomped into Lautrec's guard and tore his sword across the other knight's chest with both hands. The blessed bronze groaned, but the decorative arms held back the blow. Still, that left Lautrec with a growing hole in the side of his armor. Yet more blood joined the human fluids flowing at their feet.

Lex gripped his lash anxiously. Lautrec was strong, but his aggressive style put him at a disadvantage against an even more violent foe. This was a battle he was slowly losing. That said, Lex wasn't sure how he could intervene. Healing spells weren't exactly something that could be used tactically with their slow, dedicated chants. If he tried to join the fight himself, he would only get in the way. Rushing the Thorn Knight with the last use of his attack miracle might work, but it would be a risky proposition.

As he focused more and more tightly, his vision left his body. It rushed past the fight and through the tunnels. His head churned as he saw the glimmer of souls that animated the giant rats and the normal-sized ones alike. Through the walls, he could see the giant rat in the distance, and something terrible lurking in the depths below.

He saw the hungry life in the living slimes like churning fire. They had been men once, and devourers of men. He could see the burning pulse of the demonic vines slowly spreading through the drains. Yet none of this helped him with the invading Darkwraith.

At last, however, he recognized a shape that was nearly human.

"Now, what's a crow doing here?"

" _Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope._ "

Lex tried to retrieve his second sight as quickly as possible. He still wasn't sure what would happen if someone touched it, but he wasn't about to find out. He fell back into his own body with a start. The fight was still going on.

Lautrec swung his shotels in parallel, trying to pincer Kirk without his shield, but the Thorn Knight only rushed forward to tackle him. With a splash, they collapsed into the channel. Kirk grasped the end of his sword with his free hand and pressed it against Lautrec's concave faceplate, trying to force him underwater. The Embraced Knight made true to his title and pulled his sickles either way, their blades digging into Kirk's sides in a razored embrace.

From the far passage where Kirk had come, footsteps echoed again. There was a jingling of medals, and Lex drew his talisman in case the channeler was ready to fight. Only, it wasn't a channeler.

"Aye siwmae! You seem to be in a spot of trouble!

A man in strange armor had rounded the corner. The armor itself was simple mail, but over it, he wore a faded yellow mantle. Chained to his left shoulder was a heavy band of holy brass from which hung a dagger of the same material. So too was his helm, the visor of which was an intricately-carved death mask with spectacles. Tall, twisted horns like those of a savanna beast jutted from the top. Countless medallions, coins, bells, and lockets hung over the front of his mail like a scale breastplate.

He held a long kite shield and a likewise peculiarly long broadsword. More peculiar, however, was that both of them were warped into the same strange combination of stone and crystal as had the victims of the basilisks' breath.

Without releasing his hold on Lautrec, Kirk spun his head all the way around to glower at the newcomer.

"Well, that's not something you see everyday."

The stranger casually approached the struggle but turned to Lex.

"And good day to you. A fine mess you've found yourselves in, figuratively and literally. Not to worry. An adventurer such as I has gotten out of tougher spots – though perhaps none so foul-smelling."

He pointed his sword at Kirk, who continued watching while drowning Lautrec. The self-proclaimed adventurer didn't seem at all unnerved by the unnatural flexibility of the Darkwraith. The newcomer hazarded poking the Thorn Knight with the tip of his blade. Kirk simply ignored it. The stranger kept pacing around.

"Aye! Lautrec! Is that you! What are you doing down there?"

The Embraced Knight gurgled angrily.

"I'll have you unhand him if you don't mind, Sir Thorns. He's something of a family friend."

At last, Kirk vocalized.

"Don't think you aren't hated too, son of the bitch."

His voice was like dead tree branches scraping the walls of a church during a winter storm.

"No need to be unkind. Well, I take it negotiations are out of the question."

The stranger made a shallow swing at Kirk to avoid hitting Lautrec. The Thorn Knight tried to shift his body between Lautrec's shotels to soften the blow, but the other knight had released his grip. Lautrec gave a swift kick, and Kirk rolled onto the walkway. Just as quickly, the Embraced Knight clambered onto the opposite platform.

At last, Lex stepped toward the fight, and now Kirk was trapped between the three men. Not giving them the luxury of coordinating, he made a sidearmed swipe at Lautrec's bleeding wound. The furious Embraced Knight swung both sickles overhead, but Kirk rolled out of the way, dashing toward Lex who was clearly the weakest.

The prophet didn't need second sight to expect that. He already had the prayer on his lips, and the violet shockwave struck the knight head-on. The Thorn Knight kept the momentum from the burst, rolling back to his feet. He ran backward, twisting his head and spinning his elbows to face the other direction.

The stranger jumped into action. He threw all his weight into his shield and made a spectacular body block. The hard crystals simply deflected the knight's thorns with a screech. He followed up with a heavy downward blow that crumpled the unsteady, half-backward Kirk. Lautrec followed up, digging his shotel deep into Kirk's innards and wrenching it.

With a gasp, Kirk burst into souls, his phantom banished and his senses sent hurtling back to his own body. Lautrec gave a weak chuckle.

"I'll teach you," he panted, "to call…"

"Let it go, Lautrec," the stranger said, patting him on the shoulder. He turned to Lex and extended a hand: "Glad to make your acquaintance. I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Ah, yeah! Sorry! I'm Lexion, formerly of the Cathedral of the Deep."

"A pleasure. I'm Domhnall of Zena. I'm just, well, a-"

"An imperial prince," Lautrec interrupted. "Domhnall mac Flann."


	9. In Pieces

"Why'd you do that, Lautrec? You know I like to travel incognito," Domhnall said, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips.

"Please, your grace. A peddler does not wear golden armor. To say nothing of the rest of your attire."

"Ah, you have me there. In this dark world, I'm too used to people suspecting you any time you _aren't_ dressed like a holy man. Of course adventurers would see right through it. Now, what sort of traveler would carry wares such as mine? Perhaps I should say I am the Chosen Undead?"

Lex raised his hand awkwardly.

"Sorry, that's actually me. I guess people will start hearing about it eventually."

Domhnall was taken aback.

"Oh. Lautrec, did you not tell him?"

The knight just chuckled.

"Lautrec! Shame on you. Lexion, I'm afraid I must say that you are only the _current_ Chosen Undead. I'm sure you've seen the poor statues on the way here? They were also the Chosen Undead afore their luck ran out. The gods are capricious, to say the least."

"What the-? But I'm the-?"

Lex tried to find a way to explain how he was special when the Pardoner had seemed intent on keeping Lautrec from knowing he was a prophet. Now that he thought on it, that was the answer.

"But the Pardoner-"

"Oh," Domhnall said, wincing. "I'm sorry you had to hear it from me, but the Pardoner is just as bad. Not a bad fellow, mind. He's my great-uncle. We don't speak much, but he's a fine priest. Very generous. Still, he takes his duties seriously. That includes helping each Chosen Undead to the extent that Lady Velka allows – and you can't say that she's the kindest goddess."

"Wait, hold on! Saint Oswald is a human. Did…? Are…?"

"Am I a bastard?"

"Well, I didn't-"

"No worries! And no, I'm not. My father-"

"Now is not the time, your grace," Lautrec interrupted. "That damnable uncle of yours has bound me to escort his new favorite through Blighttown, and I have no intention of dragging out the task. I appreciate your help, but if you've no other business with me, we'll be going."

"That is peculiar. The Pardoners don't pick favorites. They certainly wouldn't help a Chosen Undead without payment. That would defeat the purpose of the mission. A strong soul is required to succeed Lord Fin."

"Yes, the reason is quite murky," Lautrec said, chuckling.

"By the Lords!" Domhnall said, making a protective sign over his heart. "Lautrec made a pun!"

The knight grumbled, realizing what he had said.

"Ah, but Lautrec, I'm afraid this is a dead end. The gate is locked, and I haven't a clue how to get the key. A nasty beast devoured it, I've heard. I can show you to its lair, but it would be a grand challenge, even for you."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lex interrupted. "Where did you hear it from? Everyone in here is dead or hollow or statue."

"You don't think I'm down here for my health, do you?" the prince said, ribbing him. "I got locked up years ago! I helped build the gate after those demons climbed out of Blighttown. We lost a few good souls in Blighter raids and more to those jumping lizards. Still, we finished it before more demons emerged."

Lex frowned.

"Unfortunately, that was enough to run the Burg and the Parish to hollowing. I think we got the last two. I finished a goat-headed one with Count Oscar de Collunaires, and the belfry gargoyles took out a bull-headed one."

"A fine tip! It's been ages since I've had a good meal. Oh, don't give me that look. Demon meat is so rich I can't describe it. I'll save you a taurus steak if Great Uncle Wald hasn't disposed of it yet."

"Your grace," Lautrec said, grinding his teeth. "You were going to show us the beast's lair."

"So I was! Let's be off, then. I'm not about to keep a Pardoner waiting."

They followed the water's flow to the end of the passage. There, they passed a sort of central hall and continued through to the opposite side. Unexpectedly, Domhnall led them upward and through a series of narrow, labyrinthine corridors. Eventually, they emerged once more into the blinding light of the wide-open chamber. The light didn't faze the adventurer, whose death mask probably provided some filtering. He approached the edge and leaned over, shielding his eyes.

"Ah, bother! We may be out of luck. I expect pickings have been slim as of late. The beast may have popped down to Blighttown for a meal. No telling when it'll be back."

"Then we'll lure it back. I'm sure a charbroiled cleric will bring it running."

Lex took a deep, ragged breath.

"There's no harm in going down to look," Domhnall replied. "Just know that we may be forced to fight. I do have some homeward bones if we need to make a hasty exit, but they won't help us if we're caught by surprise."

Lautrec nodded.

"Let's go. Keep your eyes open, cleric. With his grace here, you might survive this."

Unlike the platform they'd fought the channeler on, this one had a stairwell which led to the bottom storey and a fog wall. As they emerged into the greater chamber, Lex was awestruck with the sheer scale of it, reminding him that he really was in the land of the gods. The ceiling was as far away as the vault of heaven, and the pillars which had supported it were half as wide as a hovel which would house a serf's entire family. Yet many of the pillars were uniformly broken three quarters of the way to the ceiling. Others were wholly missing.

"Prince Domhnall, what happened here?"

"Don't call me prince, if you please. It's bad enough that I can't get Lautrec to stop. To answer your question, take a look at the pillars' bases. Notice the blackening. Story goes that the jailers tried to drop the roof on the beastie. That's why all the prisoners are higher up, in those improvised quarters above the sewers."

The ceiling was held up sheerly through the strength of its arches. All the pillars had been blasted down at one point or another. A few places had crumbled inward, weakening the whole structure, the but the work of a divine mason was more than could be destroyed by mere powder bombs. Still, away from the pillars and arches of the balconies on the near wall, the chamber was strangely barren.

Drainage grates lined the walls to the end, some flowing and others clogged. Puddles of rancid water were everywhere, and the water that still flowed did so on the open floor, without any obvious channels.

"Was this whole level supposed to be underwater? How long has the system been left to rot?"

"I can't rightly say. It is impressive, though. There are few gods left back home, and the giants have all fled or died off. It would be impossible to create such a work now. Seeing this in ruins really drives home the desperation."

Lautrec growled: "Your grace, didn't you say this would be dangerous? Is it really the time to be chatting about sewer architecture?"

"Fair enough, Lautrec. Here, why don't we fan out to cover more ground? Lexion, don't hesitate to run screaming if you find it. If you were no use against the Thorn Knight, you don't want to be anywhere near this one."

"Oh boy. What a time for me to be out of attack miracles."

"That's why a proper adventurer always carries firebombs."

He rummaged through a large pouch hanging on the back of his belt.

"Here. I packed a few for dealing with the slimes. They won't do much to such a beast, but it's better than that cheap crossbow or trying to hit anything with your noodly arms."

He paused and adjusted the spectacles on his mask.

"Is one of them larger than the other?"

"Thanks for the firebombs!" Lex said, grabbing them and quickly turning to explore the chamber.

Frankly, there wasn't much to see. Spreading out merely allowed them to look over the entire broad horizon at once. Lex quickly found that the floor sloped toward the far wall, possibly as a result of the blasting that had destroyed the pillars. The running water began to speed up as he slowly descended, and after some distance, he could see that the floor had detached from the wall entirely. A great chasm had formed, and the floor gently sloped toward it, slowly descending the height of several men.

In the distance, he caught sight of something – just at the edge of the floor. It resembled a log floating idly in the running water.

"Is that…? Oh my gods. I know Lordran is a land of legends, but I didn't expect an _urban_ legend." He turned and cupped his hands to shout: "Hey Domhnall! I found it! It's a sewer gator!"

In his excitement, he had not considered that nothing could simply float in place in a steady current. The water wasn't terribly deep, but a quick look would have judged it too deep for an alligator's legs to reach bottom.

It lifted its muzzle out of the water. Then came what seemed to be the rest of its body, straight up without any support. It seemed to have no legs. It kept rising. It grew wider, great protrusions of bone lining its sides. Lex stupidly waved to Domhnall, who tried to wave him away in panic. Lautrec began sprinting toward the cleric.

Then came the legs at last – or rather, they were arms. In fact, they almost looked human, setting aside the scales and claws. Yet they were far too long, from the lanky limbs themselves to the spindly, grasping fingers. As frail as they seemed, they heaved the stupendously large body over the ledge, cracking the old stone with their grip.

It was a disgusting thing, a shambling mess that walked on two arms and four legs. It had only a tiny head, the size of its own thumb, and its ribcage jangled limp between its arms and legs. A pot belly, bulging and gurgling and dragging the ground, hung distended between its legs. Four shriveled wings graced its back. It lacked the grandeur of the drake from the bridge, but there was no mistaking.

This was a true dragon, albeit one with mortal frailty.

It reared up with an ear-shredding screech, ribs flaring wide. Only, they were ribs no longer. Row after row of them opened up like countless carnivorous plants had devoured one another. The teeth undulated like groping claws around a mouth so small it could barely be seen.

Lex wasn't looking anyway. Oblivious as he was, there was no way he could have missed the sound of crumbling stone and thundering footsteps behind him. He'd broken into a dead sprint and was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"FORGIVE ME ALLFATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED! I HAVE HELD LUSTFUL THOUGHTS IN MY MIND TOWARD HOLY MAIDENS IN THY SERVICE!"

"There's always that one every decade or so…" Domhnall sighed.

The dragon had suspended its first torso in a swaying recline. It meandered after the cleric but quickly found itself outpaced. With a roar, it skipped forward and dropped its upper body like a hammer. Water and stone burst in a shockwave around the monster, heedless of the damage to its own body. Lex just barely escaped the bone-shattering landing, but shards of the floor cut through his leather armor. The impact alone sank the floor slightly, causing him to stumble and slide across the disgustingly slick ground.

"Brace yourself."

As Lex rose to his knees, Lautrec barreled forward. The cleric stiffened instinctively, and the knight used him as a step to jump onto the dragon's tiny head. It rose from the stone sluggishly and gave a halfhearted effort to throw the man off. Lex rubbed his back and stumbled to his feet, just barely getting out of the way before the thing began lumbering ahead again.

It was difficult to remain standing as the weight of the impossibly large creature shook and dipped the broken floor. It wouldn't be surprising if the floor gave way altogether within a few years. It was fortunate or perhaps well-planned that the prophet had arrived when he did.

Lautrec's wicked hooks were weapons best suited for tearing soft flesh. Though the dragon was mortal and had no stone scales, its hide was still thick and leathery. The knight's slow, tearing strokes through the back of its neck were clearly wounding the beast, but its horrid shrieks seemed more of irritation than mortal harm.

So too was Domhnall's crystallized sword ineffective. He'd come alongside the monster and slashed at its leg, but each blow made the brittle blade sing and shudder. Lex wasn't in any better shape. He had a lash that was useless against mere hollows, a rusty knife, a poorly-made crossbow, and a pittance of firebombs that weren't even his.

He threw one at the dragon, but it ignored him.

Uneasily, the thing pushed off the ground and reared backward again in an attempt to throw Lautrec. He'd already seen the trick once, though, so he simply dug his shotels into its back and let his body hang limp.

"It's persistent," he said, "but this is less a hunt and more an endurance match. The only danger is in getting caught off guard. What a pitiful dragon. It must have hidden from the demons. I could have handled this myself."

With all its weight upright, the dragon was able to quickly turn about. Lautrec simply swung along on the rocking upper torso like mistletoe clinging to the branches of an archtree. The monster threw all its weight behind a clawswipe at Domhnall. The adventurer's reflexes were well-honed, and he dove out of the way with time to spare. Still, the talons drove gashes through the stone floor that would have killed a human on impact.

"I apologize, Lautrec," he said as he rose. "Clearly, your skills are too great for such a paltry challenge. I never realized you were the second coming of Dragonslayer Ornstein."

"One of us should certainly smite the beast with lightning, your grace."

"Har har, Lautrec. I put my faith in myself; not in half-forgotten tales of Uncle Tuirenn."

"Let's not speak of this now."

"What's wrong? Dragon got your tongue? You know, I can't tell if the beast has one."

By now, the dragon had not only noticed Lex's firebombs but had grown tired of them. Its stupendously long tail had been swatting at him like a cow swats flies, but now it heaved with most of its weight. The unexpected change in pattern surprised the cleric, who had been too busy eavesdropping to pay attention. He was sent hurtling some distance away, landing on a half-eaten warrior's armored corpse.

"I thought it was already disgusting enough, thank you," he wheezed, the air knocked out of him.

"Ah, Lautrec, the tail! We should have cut it off first."

"I was a bit preoccupied, you grace."

"How long do you intend to hang there? With those arms crossed over your chest, you look fit for the gallows."

"I thought I would wait until the crows made an appearance. That doesn't seem likely now."

The conversation was interrupted by a terrible gurgling sound. The dragon gagged and buckled over as if in pain. Abruptly, it retched.

A wave of half-digested ooze rolled over the floor. The contents of the spew had no rhyme or reason, containing stone and wood alongside pitifully undying hollows.

"My prince, Que-" one gasped before more rotting material washed over it.

Stone and water sizzled where the ooze touched, as much draconic stomach acid as half-digested material. Domhnall was forced back by the slow wave. The dragon stood upright again, shuffling its feet awkwardly in the mess. It beat its great wings, nearly unsettling Lautrec.

"Don't you dare!"

It flapped them again and pushed against the ground with its stubby legs. Straight up, it went. Only, its wings had atrophied from countless years of disuse. Worse, they were meant to bear a powerful, agile body. The awkward segmentation and belly full of undigested material made it unstable and overburdened. Hardly had the dragon entered the air before it came crashing down again.

The impact was incredible, and the sudden burden on the floor caused the entire level to droop further into the void beneath the sewers. That wasn't all the crash had jarred loose. Undead could rise to fight anew however many times they pleased, but there was still a limit to how long they could exert their strength. Already fatigued from holding himself in place, the sudden stop bashed Lautrec against the dragon's spine, causing him to slip.

"Goddess have mercy!"

The experienced knight rolled aside quickly before the beast could trample him. He was mostly unharmed, but his shotels were still stuck in the dragon's back. While the jump had accomplished little else, the dragon had been able to turn quickly instead of dragging its body over the stones. Lautrec was unarmed, and Domhnall was cut off by the ever-spreading wall of vomit. At last, it turned to face Lex, who had been waiting for a moment to be useful.

"No, no, no! I'd be all stringy! Eat this guy!"

He kicked at the warrior's corpse beside him as he glanced around. He could run to the wall and try to force aside the iron grate on the drainage channel. Of course, even if he succeeded, those eerily long fingers were probably adapted for pulling prey from narrow passages. He thought over his attuned spells. Out of attacks; no heals used; only one of his poison cures used. At least he could patch himself up after getting beaten. If he wasn't eaten.

He tried running sidelong, but the dragon clambered forward faster than he anticipated, beating its wings. Its long, gangly arm swept around. The cleric tried to roll out of the way, but he only hurt his shoulder and stumbled back to his feet in time for it to grab him.

"No! Stop! Bad dragon!" he shouted, panic driving him to familiar scolding.

It raised him high like a prize, then carelessly dropped him into its open mouth.

"Lexion!" Domhnall shouted.

The first row of teeth drove into his flesh. He screamed. A familiar black luster burned on his finger.

As the dragon's smallest teeth, merely the size of daggers, drove into the black cleric's sides, the Ring of Condemnation fulfilled its purpose. Even the Goddess of Mercy would retaliate if struck three times. Imagine the retribution of the Goddess of Sin.

A violet shockwave burst from the ring like Lex's attack miracle. Surprised, the dragon tried to stop the pain by moving on to the next set of teeth. Another pulse rippled through its mouth, its strength commensurate with the prophet's screams. The dragon tried one more time.

Lex's eyes rolled back into his head as a dozen broadsword-sized ribs shredded his body. Halfway conscious through the pain, his mind drifted and shifted and easily got away from him. Thought and memory slurred together, and he found himself in a new time and place every few moments. Only, they weren't his memories.

There were names without faces and faces without names. Languages he couldn't understand. He stood on the precipice of the world and watched as an everlasting dragon or perhaps a crow. For a brief moment, he held the fullness of the Goddess' vision.

Then, the Ring exploded.

The resulting flood of occult power shattered the dragon's rib-teeth and sent it into death spasms. Lex fell from its slavering mouth and bounced on the floor, somehow still alive. Lautrec chased after the beast as it lumbered away, having drawn a parrying dagger from his belt. Domhnall had at last made it around the dispersing vomit and quickly knelt at the cleric's side.

"Lexion, stay with us! You're the only one who can heal yourself. Oh, Mother, I wish I had your healing hands. He's bleeding out."

The adventurer dug into his pouches until he found a small roll of bandages. He quickly bound the worst of the bleeding, but the cleric's arms and legs were barely attached. His organs were probably a colorful pulp.

"Lautrec! We need to get to a bonfire, now! I know where one is, but Greigor had the key, and he's been missing for three years!"

The knight had used the dagger to climb the flailing creature and was atop its writhing back once more. He wrenched both shotels like levers, and like an automaton, the dragon simply stopped. This time, he braced himself as it crashed to the ground, a pile of limbs and stomach acid.

"Oh, just let him die," Lautrec said at last. "He more than deserves it for the trouble he's put us through. He knows the way back. It'll make him stronger for the journey like the wretched gods of Anor Londo want."

He clambered off the dead dragon's back and walked around to its tail. He held up one thumb to judge, then made some shallow cuts with a shotel to measure.

"Besides, we haven't even begun to dismantle the prize. Don't you want another dragon bone weapon for your collection?"

"Lautrec." Domhnall was serious: "You know better than I do that the memory loss catches up with you faster than you can prepare for. One death here; one death there. Now you're at my mother's cathedral, just another beggar with no name. Isn't that right, _Paiste_?"

"You've made your point. I'll carry the body. You get your tools ready to pick the lock."


	10. Down with the Sickness

"Aye siwmae! Welcome back, Lexion. How are you feeling?"

Lex glanced around. He was in a long, narrow room without any sort of obvious purpose. A bonfire had been set in its center, but there was nothing else around. If he squinted, he could just barely see the end of the hallway leading out of it. He had no explanation for how stupidly long the passage was.

"I'm… alright, I guess. I blacked out pretty early."

He rose to a sitting position. With nothing but debris in the sewer, all they'd been able to do was to lay him on the floor. He rubbed the slime off the side of his face with a grimace.

"Thanks for not letting me die out of convenience."

"Don't mention it. It's only because you're already so harsh on your body that you survived. I don't think I've ever seen a man bleed out so slowly. I guess there's some good in your Cathedral's blood rituals."

"Yeah, well, believe me when I say I'm going to need to fully cleanse myself after I get out of here. Where in Lordran do you think I could find enough water to bathe?"

"I've heard there's a beautiful waterfall in-"

"New Londo," Lautrec interrupted. "Your grace, we should get moving."

"That is a cruel joke, Lautrec. But you're right. No sense in sitting around."

He had been sitting nearby to watch over Lex, but now he rose and gathered his equipment.

"I'm off to salvage leather and bone from the dragon afore the slimes get to it. It's a shame, but I doubt its meat will be good to eat. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lexion. I wish you good luck as the Chosen Undead, but really, you should be running far, far away. You're not cut out for it. That Count of Astora you mentioned – maybe leave it to him."

"Well, I was kind of helping…" Lex said sheepishly.

It didn't matter who he traveled with – he was hiding in the back no matter what.

"It's your choice of course. Never forget the gods aren't perfect. They may have Chosen you, but they've Chosen wrong before. What matters is your own choice. No one could have forced Lord Fin to link the Fire. That was his own choice. If you're to succeed him truly, you must have that strength of character to choose yourself.

I've spoken more than enough. Too much of my father in me. Now, it's time for us to part. Lautrec, make sure to take care of him. He's a good boy, if a bad Chosen Undead. And a terrible cleric."

"He will be safe through Blighttown, your grace. As I swore to the Pardoner."

"I guess that's the best I'm going to get out of you. Fair travels, you two."

With that, Domhnall headed out first. Lautrec had been sitting under a torch, tending to his weapons with a whetstone. The dragon's tough hide and meat had blunted them considerably. Now, he rose and turned to Lex.

"How was your first night in solitary confinement? It's downright cozy compared to my little cell in the parish. I can't tell which is crueler, though. This cell has a bonfire so you know you're trapped. The good Pardoner had locked me in an isolated room with no guard. He left my weapons to me. Quite the clear message, isn't it?"

Lex frowned and began unwrapping the bandages which had held him together. All the damage to his body had been undone, but his armor was a tattered scrap. At least now he wouldn't really damage it when he lashed himself. He'd not carried much on him, and the essentials – his lash and his talisman – were both fine. The only concern was that his covenant ring had broken. What that meant for his relationship with the goddess and his status as prophet, he could only imagine.

He cast his cleansing spell to ensure he still had a channel to the divine and to wash the grime his body had taken from the floor. It went off without a hitch, so he simply restored his energy at the bonfire and stood.

"Lucky you, we already dug the gate key out of the beast's vomit. Let's get moving. This is more trouble than I thought it would be worth."

Lex nodded, and the pair headed back down into the depths of the sewers. They'd come quite some distance upward, and the giant rat again leered at them as they passed. Domhnall had opened hidden and blocked passages, so now the way down was a straight shot. It was only a matter of minutes before the pair had made it back to the central passage on the lowest level.

The smell here was the worst, as all the waste from above tended to get caught on existing debris instead of flowing down into Blighttown. The water formed stagnant pools, and the drainage channels were full of rotten wood, corpses, or demonic vines reaching from below.

The way forward should have been blocked by a grate, but the bars had been bent and broken outward. It was on the other side of this breech that the prisoners had built a heavy gate of the sturdiest wood and iron they could gather. The old planks had been petrified by basilisk breath and were banded many times over. It was possible that a demon could break through, but all the world would hear it banging against the gate before it did.

Things were considerably easier for the two holy men, who had the key. Lautrec threw the double doors open wide, causing a gust of stale air to sweep in. The architecture beyond was older and had long dried out. Ahead lay a great circular pit with walls of mortar. The channel through which water had once flowed from the sewer and into this pit was dry as bone, testament to how long it had been since the prisoners had gone hollow.

Yet still, a small number of torches illuminated the way down. Something yet stirred in the waste pit, and it wanted to know when intruders approached. The pair edged around the pit, the narrow walkway barely large enough for them to cross. An iron ladder led into the pit, but midway down, it gave way to a wooden ladder. This was not an enduring ladder, a permanent fixture of the pit crafted by the gods' agents. This was a rickety ladder made from waste-wood lashed together by someone who barely understood knots.

"What is this, like a quintuple granny? This is literally what square lashing is for. Timber hitch, wrap it, frap it, clove hitch. It's not difficult, for Lloyd's sake!"

"Well, be sure to tell the Blighters that," Lautrec chuckled.

Directly beneath them was a sprawl of misshapen and misaligned wooden platforms. There was a tremendous hole in the side of the stone pit which led into a dimly-lit cavern. The platforms led to a bridge, which in turn led to more platforms in the cavern. A bulky figure stood at the entrance, two glowing red eyes leering into the darkness.

"Cleric. The walkways will be dangerous from here on. Don't move forward until I say so. Keep your crossbow ready, but shoot only when I say. Understand?"

"Right. I'll be careful."

They climbed down to the lowest platform. A clumsily-repaired wagon wheel was pinned to a vertical post, a length of rope running from it to the bridge. They could raise or lower the bridge from here. Looking to the other side, the matching mechanism was broken. The bridge was safe to cross and couldn't be raised from the Blighttown side, hence the posted guard.

The dimwitted thing gave a cry and pounded its chest. It waddled across the bridge with surprising speed, taking awkward bounding steps while its arms flailed to the side. It swung a massive chunk of driftwood one-handed at Lautrec. The knight was never in any danger. He ducked under the blow and spun on his heel, flipping his blades underhanded and hooking them under its shoulder blades.

"Now let's see what we're dealing with."

He laid the body on the platform and stepped around to get a good look. It was certainly a hollow, if a stupendously large and corpulent one. Somehow, it had managed to keep its thin, disgusting hair. Its eyes were narrow enough that they almost looked half-closed, and its mouth jutted upward and outward like a fish's, except with jagged and uneven teeth.

The flesh was gray and clammy, with bruises and tears covering much of the surface. The molds growing on it looked healthier than the stretched and abused skin. Wooden splinters as long as Lex's forearm jutted out of its upper body at odd angles, pus oozing from the infected flesh around them. The savage was dressed in a combination of rags, furs, and stolen teeth, but no garb could have relieved the disgusting nature of the thing's own body.

"Look well on it, cleric, on the rot that festers on the gods' very doorstep. Even Princess Finnabair knew there was no saving Lordran. Think carefully on what you hope to accomplish here."

Lex's hands were shaking with disgust.

"What is all of this, Knight Lautrec?"

"Why, this is Blighttown. This is everything your cleansing-obsessed Cathedral hates. You cast the impure into your Deep, right? Your archdeacons imitate the gods. Look at what it has wrought here – rot. As more and more was cast at the foot of Anor Londo, the disease and poison melded into an untameable blight. I wonder how much longer your Deep can last."

Lautrec laughed, but Lex was deeply troubled. Now that he thought about it, no matter how sacred the Deep was, they really were just throwing things into a pond. Of course it would fill up eventually. How did no one notice that?

Lautrec threw the body into the lightless depths of the pit, and they continued onward. The ramshackle platforms were held together by the tension of interwoven boards, crude splinters of iron, and rope of unknown origin. They all tilted to one side or another, either to lean against something sturdier or because they had been poorly balanced on their supports.

More of the hulking guards would cross their path, the old and rotten boards creaking under the hollows' bloated weight. They were all terribly durable beneath layers of protective fat and pus, and sometimes, Lautrec would fail to kill one immediately. Still, the pair progressed slowly and cautiously so that they never encountered more than one at a time. Such luck could only last for so long.

Blighttown at first seemed a wretched and unorganized pile of driftwood spat out by the clogged sewers above. Only, once the intruders reached the interior, they realized it was an eerie replica of any other township. They had crossed the drawbridge and the wall, fought past the guards, and now were hiding just off the main road. The "townsfolk" walked to and fro about their affairs.

Certainly, they looked inhuman monsters. Their faces were narrow and long, with gaping mouths and panting tongues beneath beady eyes. Their skin was gray and disgusting as the guards, but they had no "armor" – no thick layer of fat or protective charms. They carried weapons with them, but so too did many savage tribes keep their hunting equipment with them. The Blighters nearly looked respectable with their chipped swords and dull spears.

Yet, others carried corpses of their own kind. The flesh of these corpses was clearly gnawed away, and their necks were broken or faces smashed in. As in the prison above, the residents of Blighttown had turned to cannibalism and been warped by it.

"We don't have much of a choice," Lautrec grumbled. "We'll have to fight them all."

Lex almost volunteered to scout the path ahead with his second sight, but he remembered that he was still hiding his power from Lautrec. Assuming he still had it after breaking his ring.

"Do we?" he whispered. "I've seen peaceful hollows. And one followed my orders once. Sort of. Is there anything we could do to communicate with these?"

"Not the two of us. They'd listen to demons, maybe. Bottom feeders like to stick together." Suddenly, he started chuckling: "That's right, maybe they _would_ listen to you. I'll let you go out and try to speak with them if you swear you won't lead them back here."

Lex scowled, so Lautrec just pushed him further behind cover and stepped into the open. The nearest Blighter facing him yelped and pointed. It whooped and hollered, jumping up and down and waving its broken sword.

"That's right, you Chaos-infested inbred. Call all your friends. You'll need them to so much as put a scratch on this knight of the Goddess!"

Lautrec walked down the wooden street and set his back to one of the crude braziers which lined the roadside like streetlamps. Straightaway, three Blighters rushed at him. He ducked under the first swing of a sword, springing up to throw the creature sidelong into the chasm. Another came, and a spear with short lugs thrust over its shoulder. He hooked it with his shotel and drove one of the lugs into the nearer Blighter's eye. As it screamed and crumpled, he wrenched the spear forward, driving its wielder onto a waiting blade.

"What's wrong, Blighters? I could do this all day!"

In the distant shadows, there was a sound like a tongue clicking. Lautrec's armor plinked, and he swatted at his neck. Between his fingers, he held a festering splinter of wood, stained with a gritty, black liquid.

"Of course barbarians would use toxins. Goddess have mercy."

Another group of the creatures swarmed at him, but he wouldn't be distracted. One swung a corpse at the knight, but he used the unbalanced weight of the improvised weapon to throw the cannibal screaming into the empty darkness. There came the sound again. Lautrec shifted his posture and wrapped one arm around his neck. The toxic splinter bounced off harmlessly.

"I bet you Blighters normally get lightly-armored 'heroes.' A heavy knight would be hesitant about crossing such rickety paths. Well, Lautrec the Embraced shies from no challenge. Hurry back! Tell your leader! You'll need more men!"

In response, he heard the sound of _two_ blowguns firing. He blocked the shot to his neck, but the second came from below and took him in the armpit.

"Oh for the love of the Goddess. Cleric! I'm poisoned!"

Lautrec severed the arms from an attacker and kicked it back into another. He continued shouting taunts as a distraction while Lex crept out of his hiding place and sprinted to the other side of the brazier. With a quick chant, he cured Lautrec, who only grunted his thanks.

"You keep coming, like moths flittering towards a flame. Maybe I should let you have it."

He quickly signaled Lex forward and turned around to the brazier. He thrust his heel into the short supporting rods and pulled along its body. The whole thing rocked toward him, and he spun out of the way, throwing the burning torch and oil made of human fat over the next wave of assailants. Already slick with gore, they caught fire hungrily and ran screaming deeper into the township.

Most of the wood that comprised the platforms was soggy and wouldn't catch light. Some, however, was slicked with the remains of the cannibals' meals, and burned brightly. The half-cognizant creatures howled with panic and blindly threw anything and everything at the blaze. Some of the fires went out, but others grew only wilder for the addition of fuel.

Lex could only watch, speechless, as they inflicted upon Blighttown some of the same horrors the demons had on the Undead Burg.

"Hurry. While they're distracted."

The pair ran through the burning streets, heedless of where they were going. At last, Lautrec pointed forward.

"There! A bonfire! We can rest and plan our next move."

They dashed headlong for it, but in the firelight, it quickly became apparent that they'd run out of platforms. The bonfire was still some distance away, on some sort of stone bridge beneath them.

"Knight Lautrec! The ladders are over there!"

"No time! And this will throw them off our trail!"

"What will throw them off our-?"

Lautrec roared and made a full-speed jump to a lower platform. He landed with a thunderous footfall and kept going, hopping from level to level until he had reached the bonfire. Lex winced.

"Goddess, I might really need wings this time."

He made the first jump quite alright and the next. On the third jump, however, he stumbled over something. The corpse of some sort of foreign warrior, who by his posture, had broken his back with a bad landing. Lex rolled off the edge with the body, but they fell apart in midair. He flailed for something to hold onto before he fell into the bottomless chasm below.

It was just his luck – there was no way he would be able to get this far into Blighttown on his own. He would have to wait for Lautrec to slaughter his way back to the entrance. Only, his fingers found purchase at the last moment. Something had become wedged in the side of the next platform. Looking up, it seemed to be a strange, overly-elaborate sword in its sheath – which was thankfully made of sturdy wood, as he doubted a blade alone could hold his weight without bending.

The cleric tried to pull himself up, but the weapon began sliding out of its scabbard. He looked up at it thoughtfully.

"I really appreciate all the practice I have holding onto a long, thick sword."

He swung himself carefully until his feet caught on the platform's supporting pillars. With a grunt, he slowly walked himself back up the side. Exhausted, he flopped atop the platform, panting.

"Cleric! You better not have fallen!"

"Ah, bite me," he murmured, sick of quietly accepting Lautrec's abuse.

Lex took a few steps back and made a running leap. A few terrifying moments later, and he had joined Lautrec at the bonfire.

"What luck!" Lautrec said, laughing honestly for once. "The Goddess is watching out for us. Be thankful, cleric. It is more than you deserve."

Lex just sighed and sat down at the bonfire, leaning heavily on the sword.

"Say, Lautrec. You seem to know a lot about how this works. Being undead and all. Why are we safe sitting here in the middle of all of this?"

Relaxed, the knight nodded.

"There's no shutting you up, is there? Fine. Souls illuminated by the bonfire are drawn closer to the world envisaged by Lord Fin. No phantom can cross its fog wall. Beasts and men are bowed in the name of the Great Lord. Time itself stands still. That said, we'll need to hurry as soon as we turn away from the bonfire."

Lautrec went quiet, focusing on the fire. The stolen souls he had collected from the slain flowed into it, winding around the coiled sword amidst the coals. In return, flame entered his body, strengthening him. Lex did the same, thinking on what he needed most. That was it – he needed to think better. He felt as if a fog cleared from his mind. Lessons from his merchant parents which he had ignored for being too complicated suddenly made sense. Not that understanding tariffs helped him in the dank, dark cave full of monsters in which he found himself.

"Are you ready, cleric?"

Lex nodded, and they both rose. Lautrec peered into the darkness, searching for a path. Continuing forward would only walk them into the air. Countless beady eyes peered out of the shadows.

"By the Goddess, how?"

From either side of the stone bridge came a mob of cannibals. Snarling undead hounds danced around them, just barely restrained. Dog and master alike panted with long tongues, slavering for the first bite of human flesh.

"Mlyglymgy!"

Whatever the sound was, it resembled gurgling, retching, and choking all at once. It was followed by a sort of vulgar sucking and stone cracking. The walkway on which they stood only resembled a bridge in that it was long and somewhat narrow. Walls stood at either end, and an arched beam hung above it. As one of the great dividing walls of Anor Londo stretched out opposite, this was presumably some sort of similar structure of the gods. It was on the above beam that they saw the abomination.

Lex stumbled to the side of the bridge. He tried to vomit, but there was nothing left in his stomach, leaving him to choke up acid. Lautrec growled in the back of his throat and gripped his shotels.

"Oh gods," the deacon moaned, "is this my punishment for lust?"

It was a throbbing, fat, worm-like creature that dripped slime as it moved. A pair of feelers twice the length of its body whipped back and forth about it. Even the way it walked was disgusting. It had seven legs, three bone-like talons and four fat, stubby tendrils with sucking mouths and countless teeth. Its main body wobbled atop the tightly-spaced legs like a tremendous, phallic pustule on the back of a crab.

It began to angle itself upward like the beginnings of an erection. On its underside was a human face, stretched to three or four times its original size and drawn flat by the tautness of the thin flesh. The thing made a noise again, the human mouth moving as if speaking. Faced away from it, Lex almost forgot it was the horrible moans of a monster.

"Is that…? Lautrec, it's speaking the demon language."

"So it wants to talk? Really. What's it saying?"

"I don't know. I'm no good with languages, so I only learned the curse words."

"If you're no good at studies, why were you at a cathedral? You could have been a village priest, you damned fool!" Lautrec hissed.

"I said languages, Gwyn bless! Let me try something."

The deacon wiped his mouth and turned around, trying not to look directly at the creature.

" _Queta Anorya hya a quallë!_ "

"What was that?"

"A phase I just barely remembered. I requested it speak in the tongue of the gods."

The thing somehow gargled out a response, "Mine Anor-tongue is long out-of-date, but it seemeth that a dangerous prank hath been played upon thee. That phase meaneth 'speak Anor-tongue or die.' As thou'rt not in any position to maketh threats, I presume thou meaneth nothing by it. Yet the two of you are not out of the _lhoew_ yet!

You have killed many of my _noss_ and burnt much. I let you speak for sympathy with your wretchedness, undead outcasts. Give me reason not to cast you into _Cirith Úiôl_ again and again until you hollow."

Lautrec snorted: "Are you really asking us to justify self-defense, you bloated sack of pus? In the name of the Goddess, I will purge this defilement the instant you order your attack."

"Thou'rt welcome to purge the _Úiôl_ , but I fear thou only seekest to murder those who would defend their homes. We are not innocent, but we wish only to be left alone. Thou who wearest black, what sayest thee?"

"We're just trying to get through to ring the Bell of Awakening. I'm the Chosen Undead."

"Is that the rubbish they feed the humans now? Life is no fairy tale; there are no chosen ones. The White Lord spaketh a white lie, and now there is layer upon layer of illusion. Blessed are you humans, that you see not how far the world has fallen."

The thing gurgled to itself for a moment.

"If I allow you to ring the old bell, will humans cease trespassing upon my domain?"

Lex shrugged: "I can't make that-"

"Yes," Lautrec said, stomping on the cleric's foot. "We will make sure of that."

"See that you do. Then on my authority as _Quelpalaam Arodmaur_ , the Blightbaron, I grant you safe passage through my realm so long as you harm not my people or their homes."

Lex raised a hand, quickly speaking before Lautrec could interrupt, "Ah, one more thing, sir, uh, Blightbaron. There are two knights of Astora who may be here already. They won't fight your people if you speak with them."

The Blightbaron gurgled pleasantly, then assented, "I will give them the chance to pass peacefully. Speak thy name, that thou mayst be held accountable."

"Lexion of Carim, former Deacon of the Deep."

"Then go, Lexion _Lhûnbôr_. My people will open the path for thee."

The abomination turned and crawled away. The cannibals and their hounds growled in the backs of their throats, but a harsh gurgle set them to work. Most dispersed, but some followed Lex and Lautrec as they proceeded through the platforms. Whenever it seemed the explorers would have to take a different path, one of the Blighters would turn a wheel or pull a lever hidden in the debris. Some mechanism would activate, moving a wall or lowering a bridge.

It began to dawn on Lex that these creatures lacked the vacant expressions of hollows. Certainly, mindless creatures couldn't build these devices, no matter how carefully instructed. How many people had Lautrec killed during their entrance? He tried not to think about it.

They passed through another refuse pit like the one they'd entered through – but only briefly. The bottom was still an impossible distance away, and they soon exited through another hole in the side. The turn of a wheel caused a wall to fold away, and they continued, descending several levels as they did.

They were starting to come out into the open now. In the distance, Lex could spy the edge of the enormous tree that loomed over Firelink Shrine. Its roots ran over and under, all throughout the the platforms. Now, they walked cautiously along some exposed roots which spanned a great expanse between segments of the platforms.

There was a constant creaking and churning below. As frightened as he was of the fall, Lex looked down to see a pair of tremendous water wheels spinning below. He couldn't help but be excited over the sheer scale of it if nothing else. On the other side, hideous shapes skittered away before the pair neared them. A few narrow, winding paths and a handful of ladders were all that stood between the travelers and the top of the wheels.

"Why have we been led here?" Lex murmured as they neared. Then he saw the trick: "Look, Knight Lautrec! These aren't water wheels! They're belts with elevators!"

"Well, if you're so tickled to try them, why don't you get on?"

The knight gave him a firm shove as a platform passed by, and he stumbled onto it. The cleric grabbed onto the belt of countless wooden beams and bounced a little on his platform.

"Look, it's safe! The Blightbaron really laid out the red carpet for us."

"Good. Then my contract is complete."

Lautrec hadn't moved from the ramp leading to the elevator.

"Knight Lautrec, what are-?"

"I was sworn to see you through to the end of Blighttown. I can see the end from here just fine."

"You're really leaving me to this?"

"Oh, I'm sure the Astorans will find your body eventually. Now, if you'll, ahem, _pardon_ me, I have business in Anor Londo."


	11. Dream Evil

The slowly-rocking elevator eventually reached the end of its track, and Lex stepped off the platform before it flipped and returned the way it came. He was on one last collection of rickety wooden floors, a landing of sorts. He descended the ladders thoughtfully and faced the path ahead of him. The shallow ramp leading out into the swamp was lit on either side by a line of torches. The display almost made the wretched bog look pleasant.

"Ahh, the Blightbaron really doesn't seem like a bad guy, for a demon slug thing."

The swamp gave off a disgustingly warm, acrid smell which was just slightly better than the human potpourri of the sewer above. The bog gurgled slightly, bubbles from some unknown source popping in the distance. There were a few lilypads floating about, and a great deal of hardy reeds standing proudly over the surface of the muck. Above everything else was an omnipresent drone of buzzing insects.

This was the narrow space between the tremendous walls of Anor Londo. Within the wall behind him was the Undead Burg. Ahead lay another wall and another settlement. The mire stretched onward between the two as far as he could see. This was the wretched waste pit formed by the runoff of those who lived in grandeur beneath the shadow of the gods. The enormous buttresses required to support the walls rose from the muck like towers, each one larger than a petty noble's castle.

Setting aside aimlessly wandering through the swamp, there was only one way to go. Nestled against the cliffside far beneath Firelink Shrine was a sprawling mound of some sort. It was supported by countless twigs and broken pieces of root taken from the colossal tree above. If Lex squinted, he could see the obese hollow guards of Blighttown patrolling at its foot.

"They'll let me pass if I say I'm cool with the Blightbaron, right?"

His thoughts were interrupted by the cawing of a crow. He nearly fell over backward when he saw it. Many of the roots of the great tree had descended to the swamp in search of water but had recoiled when they found only poison. Countless carrion crows sat atop one such withered root, glaring at the cleric.

"Oh, Goddess! When did you all get there? I didn't see you at first. Right. I'm, uh, glad to see you. I was kind of wondering what was going to happen when my, uh, ring broke."

He held up his left hand and showed them the band of black iron. Some small shards of the black diamond clung to the setting, but most of it had been reduced to dust by the final explosion. The crows alighted at once, swirling about him as he held the broken ring up. After a few moments' examination, they dispersed and took off in all directions. Only one remained, landing on his left shoulder. It cawed and pointed its beak away from the mound.

"Ah. I guess it wouldn't be as easy as just going to the big, obvious thing and ringing the bell?"

Most of his path kept him close to the wall of the pit, and he could walk along a narrow shore. Where he had to enter the poison swamp, it sucked at his feet, and he had terrible difficulty crossing. Fortunately, it was a short journey, as the crow led him into a nearby tunnel. It was another drainage channel, but it seemed long dry. There was an unlit bonfire conveniently placed just inside the entrance.

Lex reached out to spark it and sat on the damp ground with a slight groan. At last, he turned away from the fire, only to nearly jump into it from fright. The crows were all there, waiting silently and staring at him.

"What a troublesome prophet I've Chosen," the crow on his shoulder whispered into his ear.

He whimpered and pulled his head away from it just as it hopped into the air. The bonfire pulled away from its cinders and toward the crows as they mobbed together, eventually taking a human shape. Sometimes errant feathers would break the outline, but it was the form of a woman with a book and feather pen. A hood hung low over her face, and long, feathered hair spilled out of it. Bare feet hovered just over the tainted ground.

The prophet fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead into the grime.

"My lady. I am not worthy."

"Rise, my Prophet Lexion. We have much to discuss."

He straightened his back but remained kneeling.

"I do not mind you swearing and cursing by names other than my own, but you prayed to Lloyd for forgiveness while wearing my ring. Do you not know who is ruler of that domain?"

"It's you, my lady."

"So you do know. Then would you mind telling me why it was not my name on your lips?"

"I was hiding my faith from Lautrec-"

"As you should. The Embraced Knight is a dangerous foe for you so early in your career. Yet your panic was real. Do you think Lloyd would forgive you for what you have done? You are a thing of lust. You lust for flesh you cannot hold. You lust for secrets you cannot know. At every turn, you defy the so-called Allfather. Do you truly believe he has forgiveness for you in his heart?"

"I don't."

"Who does?"

"You, my lady; o Berenike, mother of Carim; o Beryf, wife of Gwyn; o Velka, queen of sinners."

She raised her black book and struck a line from its pages.

"You are forgiven, my child. It is only human to commit a sin. It is a part of learning, for in blind faith lies only the false idols of fools. I sense you have become wiser since we parted. Hold fast to that path. You must understand my lessons to properly channel my power. Do not think you can command the more subtle forces with sheer willfulness like your friend Solaire."

"You know him, my lady?"

"Of course, my child. Did you not hear the Embraced Knight rage against me in vain? Nothing here in this land of fate and faith escapes my gaze. Know that the Warriors of Sunlight are broken. Their master, the second Lord of Sunlight, departed from this world long ago. He was always a clever boy, more than his father realized. Yet above all else, he desired the strength required of a hero. Those who would follow him in his quest for strength are dangerous but straightforward.

I approve of your friendship with young Solaire. Oscar, too. There are times when the greatest magic is simply a level head. Your heart is wide, my child, but do not hope to befriend all those in your journey. Trust not the White Dragon, nor my lastborn – my pride and my disgrace. The rest, I leave to your own judgment. It is a skill you will need to cultivate."

"I thank you for your advice, my lady. Is that all you require of me? What of the broken ring?"

"It is a pity, but I have no other ring so precious in Lordran. You could brave the drowned ruins of New Londo, but you would soon face despair and hollow. If ever Oswald were to perish, I would bestow upon you his ring, but my Pardoners are not so easily slain. As such, there will be no physical symbol to our covenant. Your mind is stronger than it was before – keep always my sign at the forefront of your thoughts, and our covenant shall be unbreakable."

Velka touched a talon to her prophet's forehead, and he collapsed in agony. Her sign burned itself into his mind like a brand, three talons clutching an eye.

"Bear the pain, my child. It is but passing, and the benefits are great."

Lex licked his lips.

"I will endure, my lady."

"I have brought you material gifts as well. My crows have gathered all they saw fit. I grant you three lost treasures, as is the sacred number of Lords."

The birds that comprised Velka's form shifted, and she drew a long blade from within her robes. It was a heavy, curved blade which curved back again to form a vicious hook. Studs ran along its length, and ripples flowed across the corroded black iron, signifying it made from siderite – starmetal.

"This is the Server, an occult blade made in accordance with the secret, parasitic rites of the Daughters of Chaos. It was lost to my peacekeepers in the collapse of Izalith, and its power seems to have waned while it wasted in this wretched swamp. Still, it may prove useful to you."

As Lex laid his hand upon its stained wooden grip, his vision whisked away from him. He saw fierce and savage black clerics clad in sooted furs like pyromancers. Unlike the refined grace inherent in the Pardoner's every move, they flowed in a rhythmic, stamping fury. With that war dance, the weapon's wielder had used its hook to behead countless demons before being overwhelmed by a single great foe.

Lex reached out to take the sword but immediately fell over under its weight. With some difficulty, he lifted the weapon just enough to slide his fingers out from under it.

"I did not expect you to be able to wield such a blade in your present state, but this is altogether surprising. Perhaps you should save it for another companion. Place it amongst the ashes of the bonfire, and it shall conceal itself until you draw it once more."

"I'm sorry that your gift was in vain, my lady. I'll try not to disappoint you."

At last, the cleric rose from kneeling and slowly dragged the blade back to the fire. As it slid over the boundary and into the flame, it rippled with the heat haze and vanished.

"I had never imagined using the Flame in this manner. How does it work?"

"Foolish child, you will learn nothing if you do not seek the answers yourself."

"With respect, my lady, could I not be given the knowledge and then expand on it through my own effort? Surely, it's a waste of your time as well to watch your followers stumble through the most elementary of things."

"I am not surprised that my prophet is a know-it-all who would seek to correct even true divinity."

"I-I didn't mean-!"

"No, you were right to question. You are always right to question. Your eyes are only just now opening. Is not the renegade master Logan the greatest sorcerer of this era? Have you not experienced firsthand the difference in the spells of the Silver Rite and those heresies you learned on your own? You must learn things without my guidance so when you are brought in communion with my black church, you bring with you new secrets of your own uncovering."

Lex looked deep in thought, but then said, "I understand, my lady."

"Clever boy. Now that I have mentioned my church, take this second gift."

A bundle percolated to the surface of the crows, and Velka extended it to Lex.

"When first the undead began to rise, the King of Anor Londo declared that a great capital of the undead should be built in a cavern below. There, they could live close to the gods' wisdom and seek a solution to their affliction. Of course, the King had practical concerns – they could not easily escape the cavern, should their humanity run wild as it had in lost Oolacile. The project was deemed a success; so much so that the four Kings of the city were given a fragment of the Great Soul.

As I said to you, focusing all one's attention on a single method is to blind oneself to other paths. A monastery of mine, high in the mountains, became the Undead Parish – likewise isolated in the case that the undead inhabitants lost themselves. These settlements and the others did not exist in pure isolation. To utterly divorce them so would only likewise invite stagnation. To that end, I had a priesthood even there, in drowned New Londo."

Velka handed him worn but still brilliant crimson robes. Lex blushed a little as he realized what he was wearing. His leathers had been tight enough to begin with, but with them shredded as they were, he looked like an exotic dancer. He unfurled the tattered gown and threw it directly over his leather armor. He bound the robe's belts around him, hung the ritual beads, and tied the strands of ceremonial bone. There were no feet coverings, but the thief's boots were still mostly intact. He did, however, remove his torn gloves in favor of the rosary-bound hand wrappings.

Over his heart hung two medallions. One was a crescent moon, the symbol of an ancient and secretive order of lawbringers. Even through his heretical studies, Lex knew very little of them. The other was a simple ring, the symbol of a seal. A hooded mask with a long crow's beak fit snugly over his head, hiding his hollowing. A pleasant floral scent helped to mask the oppressive fumes of the swamp. The bright red of the cloth was the mark of a non-cleric medic, as being covered in blood would make them look quite gruesome otherwise.

In the midst of the robes was a long, two-sided spike bound with rope at its middle. As Lex firmly grasped it, his vision washed away with the waters of New Londo. An entire metropolis drowned to stop a terrible threat, the response from Anor Londo anemic. The heroic death of Artorias the Abysswalker and the eternal duty of the undead Sealers. The owner of this robe had forsaken that duty in hopes of stopping the spread of the blight. She hollowed in despair at the impossibility of the task.

"This is…" Lex said, "a sorcery catalyst."

"My beloved prophet, the black clerics are chosen from the ranks of those who would have been great sorcerers had they been given the opportunity. They are chosen from those who serve the gods out of a desire to understand their essence. This world is built upon souls. Only those who seek to understand souls are fit to mimic the gods who command souls from sheer will.

Yet sorcerers of the establishment who reject the divine because they cannot so easily understand it are but fools blind to the truth. There may come a visionary sage who sees beyond his own prejudice, but that dream seems to have washed away with New Londo.

In the pocket of that robe is a scroll which shows the cleverness of the late Yulva and my Sealers. It is the schematic for the sorcerous equivalent of your Deep Tears miracle. By comparing the two, you may come closer to the truth."

Lex nodded, a fire in his eyes. As his mistress said, this was why he became a cleric. For learning. Definitely not because he enjoyed taking orders.

"I won't disappoint you, my lady!"

"Very good, my child. Now, I have one final gift. It is something I did not expect to find, something precious and ancient. A Chloranthy Ring."

Velka extended her raven-black hand. In the palm was a long-worn silver ring laden with glimmering emeralds in the shape of a common blossom. Lex slipped the shattered Ring of Condemnation from his finger and replaced it with the Chloranthy Ring.

His vision spun round and round as he doubled over in pain. The Darksign on his heart felt like it would burn through his robes.

"Why? Why are we outside?" he whimpered. "The walls! The walls are broken!"

He stumbled to his feet and ran with all his might deeper into the tunnel. Velka frowned. After a moment, her body dispersed into its component crows. The grate which had been meant to trap debris was bent inward by enormous brute strength. The deacon tripped over the twisted bars, then continued inward, at last falling face-first into a long-dry backwash pit.

Unfazed by the fall, he crawled into the center of the sunken ring and huddled there. He didn't even notice a lockbox hidden in the debris some distance away. One by one, the crows entered the black chamber and sat on the edge of the ring. Some time passed, and the murder had encircled him.

"My prophet!" one cawed.

"Compose yourself!" another barked.

"Or I shall be forced to take them back!

Your sight!

Your soul!"

At last, he looked up. The birds were barely visible in the darkness.

"My queen. Why are we outside? I saw them. The Knights of Man. Why are we outside? Why did Lord Gwyn trust the Four Kings? Had he not seen enough already?"

He swallowed.

"I… I don't think demons scare me anymore."

"Behold, human!

The true face of Man!

The trick of the Light laid bare!

Prophet mine!

What will you do with this knowledge?

With the truth?"

"Is the choice truly mine, my queen?"

"The choice to sin is always one's own!

Will you shackle humanity to the gods' illusion?

Then succeed the Lord of Sunlight!

Does your heritage ring true within you?

Then become the Lord of Men!

I care not!

All sin is my domain!"


	12. Let Me Live

Velka left Lex to his misery as the figures of the true Men marched through his mind. Lautrec had said the wretched state of undeath wasn't a curse. That was correct. Death was the curse, mortality. Everlasting dragons, immortal gods, ageless witches, living dead. Mortal humans. Why, of those things which possessed unique souls, were humans mortal? Why did they expire like transient beasts?

Because they sacrificed to the Fire. Because they had been bound with it and to it. It burned up their souls as fuel, their real souls. The Dark soul. Humanity.

He had already seen the true nature of humans, and it was never clearer than what lay above his head. As disgusting as the demon-ruled Blighttown was, it was not so deeply frightening as the burg and its prison. The demons which had emerged into the burg had only frightened the undead inhabitants; they had turned on one another of their own volition. In the prison, there had still been food left, but they devoured one another for humanity.

It burned in his second sight. They had been the fall of New Londo and no doubt countless others. He had seen them, the proud and hungry Knights of Man, no better than the White Dragon. He saw them before Gwyn had ordered them condemned and stricken from history.

The witches burnt the dragons' unassailable homes and drove them to the air. The gods shattered their invulnerability and struck them down with lightning. The dead cursed and poisoned them, making them mortal. And the men fell upon them like locusts, devouring their bodies so that they could not endure as creatures of Death.

The war had ended. The witches had retreated to their secret homes and magical experiments. The dead had returned to peaceful sleep. The beautiful gods and the hideous men were left to inherit the earth. Yet no one would want to remember the vile deeds which had preceded. This was why men worshiped the gods; Gwyn had hidden their own ugliness from them.

Only, mismatched souls and bodies could not remain together; the godly spark within them burned up their humanity. Wearing the gods' image, men would be doomed to die. Only in that place, in that prison, were men free to wear their true faces. At least until the Fire began to fade, and with it, its illusions.

Safe in the ringed pit, Lex stripped his hollow body bare. He looked at his fingertips, like shriveled fruit or salted meat. He felt his wretched body, lean and loathsome. There was no trace of fat, no loose skin. A hollow had no excess; it was a form which would constantly need to feed.

He touched the Darksign, faintly warm. Was it the Fire which bound undead that drove them to crave humanity or was it their own nature? A hollow with purpose could revive and anon – was that will a spark of Fire or a hunger of Dark?

The Chloranthy Ring which had allowed him to see that secret past was ancient indeed. Though his vision had been an unconscious reaction, it had drained much of his strength reaching so far back. The memories yet attached to the silver band were pale and faded, much like its own power. He would need to find another such artifact to see more.

Not caring about the aged grime, Lex laid flat in the middle of the pit. Undead couldn't really sleep, but they could let their minds drift. As always, it risked hollowing, but he really needed to relax after such a mental strain. He closed his eyes and simply let go, letting himself be washed away in the Dark.

He had no way of telling when his mind finally caught hold of his body again, but when it happened, he was fully refreshed. The goddess wanted to see his choice. She had no doubt watched Lord Gwyn with the same dispassion. Her own husband. If Lex refused to choose, she would find another who would be willing to stand upon the stage of history, just as Domhnall had said.

The prophet sat up and stretched. His mistress had told him to learn and understand, to refine his own judgment. The fact was, he simply didn't have enough information to choose. Humans were terrible, frightful things, but was merely suppressing them the right choice? He clenched his fist as a show of determination to himself and dressed again.

He exited the tunnel past the bonfire and stomped through the swamp with all his might. He kept to the small islands of solid ground when he could and restored himself with his cleansing miracle whenever he felt the poison beginning to get to him. Only, halfway there, he felt nausea in his bones. The blood throbbed in his head. Sure enough, he looked over his shoulder to see the world warping.

Red light swirled like blood over the ground of an island in the muck. A heaving form dragged itself into his world, panting with hunger. It was the largest woman he had ever seen, wobbling with fat and barely squeezed into the remains of an outfit more tattered than his leathers. Sackcloth mercifully covered her face. In her hand was a colossal cleaver like had been used by the prison cooks. It dripped with the blood of her last victim.

"By Gwyn," the cleric snarled, "why must humans be so hideous, even in these false forms?"

The woman screamed with hunger and ran at him with pounding steps, long used to moving through the swamp. She raised her cleaver high to sever her victim from head to toe. Only, she stopped before swinging it. Lex had stepped forward, holding the spiked catalyst firm. Certainly, he didn't know any sorceries, but he knew enough of war to brace a polearm against a charge. The spike had driven into the butcher like a nail, and now the cleric wrenched it free again.

He threaded it through a special loop on the back of the robe to holster it and drew his lash. The butcher tried to swing again, but he swatted her arm.

"No."

Confused, the invader took a step back. Lex took a step forward.

"I am the master of this world, Prophet of the Goddess of Dominion, Berenike! Beryf, wife of Gwyn! You will act with the dignity the gods gave us, or you will be broken!"

The invader started to raise her knife but thought better of it. She drew a palm-sized black crystal from her rags and held it before her as if in prayer. The world rippled again, and the phantom vanished. Lex stared at the empty space. A few seconds passed, and he gasped.

"Oh, Goddess, don't let me get angry. I'm _stupid_ when I'm angry."

He laughed in relief, legs shaking.

"How did that even happen? Was that a separation crystal? I have no idea what's going on!"

The deacon reduced the poison buildup in his body and turned back to the mound at the end of the swamp. The hollow guards on patrol here had given up on wooden weapons for the large part. Many of them simply held boulders above their heads. The nearest tensed to throw, but stopped short.

"Prnsh," it moaned. "Prnsh Qlplm's orrs."

"Sure, if you say so."

"Prnsh's orrs," they all repeated as he passed.

Now that Lex was at the mound's base, he could finally see what it was, and the answer made him shudder. This was definitely a spider's egg sac. In the corners of his eyes, he could see movement. In the dim light, he could see glowing eyes leer at him from behind the branches that supported the sack. Whatever the creatures were, they were staying away. The Blightbaron's protection seemed far-reaching.

Near the top of the sac, there was a hole which wound deep into the side of the cliff. It should have been lightless, but there was an eerie red glow cast through the silk. The path led along the ground of what may have been a natural cave, but it wasn't the floor which concerned Lex. Hardly had he stepped into the tunnel before he noticed the train of smaller egg sacks lining the roof. They looked pitted and rotten, much like roots of the great tree afflicted by the swamp's poison.

The prophet could only count his blessings that he wasn't being overrun by spider demons the size of dogs. He had been relieved too soon. Lex had read of trapdoor spiders, who lurked in pits rather than waiting in webs. The path grew steeper and steeper until he hesitated to go forward. One misstep, and he would go sliding deep into the beast's lair.

Carefully, the deacon stopped and drew the catalyst from its thong. It was too short to use as a walking stick, so he simply let his boots give way. He slid down the path on his butt, stabbing the ground every so often to control his speed. He bounced into the air on a few bumps and swung deep into the curves of the path until at last the slope evened out, and the room opened up. He had enjoyed the ride down without motion sickness, but what he saw at the end made him sick anyway. He probably would have retched again had he not already been overwhelmed by his visions of Man.

Countless bundles of egg sacs lay on the floor before him. This would have been unsettling but not really disgusting. Only, they had human legs sprawled out behind them, as pitted and scarred as they were. He pressed past them, careful not to touch any, then looked back. Of course! What else would it be? They really were humans. They weren't even hollow.

Each was covered in pockmarks and sores that erupted and oozed with every movement. They paid the cleric no mind, each lost in fervent prayer. They chanted in the demon tongue, hands pressed in supplication. They should have been in horrible agony or sick from the sheer knowledge of their state. Some eight or so eggs as long and wide as Oscar's shield were impregnated into the men's backs.

They were all utterly helpless beneath their burden. Their flesh was rotten, and their hair had all fallen out. Yet they gazed forward in unison, deeper into the tunnel. Their eyes were not shrouded white with soul fog like one soon to be hollow. Certainly, their eyes were yellow and oozed tears of pus, but they held devotion that even a junior cleric like Lex couldn't possibly miss.

Like tonsured monks in meditation, they ignored the mere deacon as he passed. He still had his hair and his attachment to worldly desires. He was nothing before the selfless dedication of a true priest. The disgusting form it took only showed the depths of their sacrifice. Lex felt a terrible guilt in the pit of his stomach; he had met the Queen of the Gods but had not yet taken oath as a full priest.

He faced forward and continued down the path. Just ahead lay a wall of soul fog. Beyond certainly lay a powerful creature, but he was protected by the Blightbaron, right? He could just ring the Bell and go, right? That was the deal… right?

Lex pressed through the fog and into a wide chamber. It was – who would have guessed it – filled with eggs. His mouth fell open. It wasn't the sheer number that disturbed him. Miracles like the one he had were excellent at dealing with large numbers of foes. Rather, some of the eggs were large enough to contain full-grown demons. The fog had of course sealed behind him. There was no going back.

In the reddish light, he could barely make out the shape of a turret on the far side. That must be where the bell was. He started forward, but a brighter light emerged from the top of the structure. It danced and bobbed down the broad stairs as it came into view. This was it. This was what he had expected of a demon.

It wasn't some overgrown half-man, half-beast or a leech with legs. The thing jittered as it walked, its limbs throbbing with the power of Chaos and the pain of being malformed. There were too many legs and too many joints. They bent and snapped and tore at the stone with talons like blades. Feelers like plant roots crept from beneath armored plates which vented jets of flame.

Its body was like a spider drawn by a child who had never seen one. It was fat and stubby like a grub with eight twisted limbs bent about it like a wreath of thorns. An aura of flame flowed about it and clung to it more like an oil fire than torches or the bonfires Lex had grown used to. No, that wasn't right either.

The fire was unnatural – it was truly red, like blood or the aura of a phantom invader. It swirled about the demon in arcane patterns. They were strange, yet he found his eyes constantly drawn to them. He could almost make out symbols in them…

The cleric forced his eyes away from the madness of Chaos. The demon's head was a bulbous thing that took up the entire front of its body. Far more than eight metallic gold eyes covered its cracked and broken surface. The thing's mouth hung open in a dumb, hungry expression. A long tongue like a proboscis dragged along the floor, and it drooled mindlessly. Yet it was a Chaos demon, and its mere saliva was lava that hardened to black stone as it fell in droplets.

The demon reached the bottom of the turret as Lex began descending the hill. They would meet in the center at this rate, and Lex's mind raced with whether the Blightbaron would accept a conflict if push came to shove. Closer now, he could see there was some sort of fleshy growth atop the demon's head. Impossible. It was a… woman? An entire woman. Maybe communication wasn't out of the question after all.

"I am-" he started.

He hesitated to admit he was a priest to a demon. On the other hand, he was already wearing a robe which had once belonged to an order of religious sorcerers.

"I am Lexion of Carim!" he said firmly, technically telling the truth. "I seek to learn the Fate of the Undead! The Blightbaron has given me leave to ring the Bell of Awakening! Please, let me pass!"

"Blight… baron?"

Her voice crackled like fire, seeming far too old for her youthful looks – a common trait of witches. Her voice curled like acrid smoke when she said the second word.

"Some wretch claims lordship over this accursed poison?"

The red light burned in her eyes with terrible fury, unlike the quiet dread of a hollow's red glow.

"Tell me who, human, and I will make your death as painless as his will be excruciating."

"I don't know. He's literally some demon leech calling himself a baron," Lex said quickly.

His weapons felt useless. The demons before had been powerful but stupid. How could he compete with a demon-witch? Would Oscar and Solaire together be enough? He doubted it.

"Look, it doesn't matter how many times you kill me. I'm undead. I have to ring that Bell. I'll just keep coming back until I do. And each time, you'll get only the pittance of souls the bonfire gives me. Just let me pass, please."

"Ah, a hero, have we?"

He didn't like the jadedness in her tone.

"Well, I'm sure you're full of heroic resolve and Fire. How _delicious_. I have high hopes for you… as an egg host. We'll implant you again and again until you come to love it… or until it breaks you. You humans are just so full of that heady Dark which feeds the children of Chaos so well."

Lex hardly had time to react. The spider tried to pounce on him, and he narrowly rolled between its head and first leg. The woman reached for him with fingernails like iron nails, but he ducked tightly and sprung to his feet on the other side. Halfway under the spider and with the element of surprise, he would never have a better chance.

He raised his left fist high, feathered black hair clenched and a prayer on his lips. The occult shockwave blasted the enormous spider demon away, its deformed legs crumpling under the force. The prophet took a step back and looked on at the woman, sprawled over the back of the beast's head. Her waist-length auburn hair had fallen into her face, hiding her expression.

The demon trembled. The ground trembled. The eggs trembled.

"Ber-!" the woman began.

Flames roared from the demon. Its armored exoskeleton cracked and burst from the pressure. The woman's hair began to float in the heat, and the tips caught fire.

"-yf!"

She rose, swiping a crude saber in front of her. It cast a wave of flame at Lex, forcing him to duck to one side.

"You dare invoke a miracle of that traitor?"

"I don't know what the Goddess has done, but-"

"No. You don't."

The spider's legs struck the ground like a volley from Carimin longbows. In a flash, the demon had closed the distance, and the woman traced lines in the air with her burning sword. Lex rolled under the attack and raised his talisman once more.

"We will see who is the greater witch!" the woman snarled.

She grabbed the spider's head, and it let loose a great howl. Lex's bruise-colored shockwave met a wound-colored one and shattered. The resulting force sent the deacon flipping backward. He stopped himself by digging his catalyst into the ground and stood unevenly.

"I'm just here to ring a Bell! I don't even know what it does!"

" _Humans,_ " the witch's voice gurgled with spite like lava, "always so gullible. So willing to please the gods. Has she bedded you yet, or are you doing this much for free?"

"W-wait. What? What? _What_?"

Lex's voice got shriller with each "what."

"Just another slave, then. Join the rest of your kind in the gutter."

The spider took a deep breath and projectile-vomited lava throughout the chamber. Though it cooled rapidly, even getting close would be dangerous. Lex outran the first spray, but the spider inhaled to fire again. Without any other options, he charged. The monster spewed right in front of it, but the deacon was already moving too quickly.

"Goddess, give me wings!"

He jumped. The witch began to swing her sword, but the cheap crossbow was already in Lex's hand. Even a wooden bolt he'd clumsily carved with a rusty knife was enough. As a demon, the witch was utterly naked but without the benefit of the spider's armor or the thick flesh of the beast demons. The bolt struck her svelte middle and splintered, breaking her swing as she buckled in pain.

Lex spun with the momentum of his shot. He raised the spiked catalyst overhand in a motion he had seen illustrated so many times before. Like Gwyn's bolt, he drove it down toward her exposed breast. Only, it stopped. He stopped. With a jerk, he hung motionless in midair. The witch glared up at him.

Ah, he could see, now that he was close enough. She was a Chaos demon after all. Her "hair" was made of prehensile roots which now wrapped about his throat and wrists. Her face was beautiful, with sharp and noble features. Only, her teeth were sharper. As she spoke, her mouth opened wider than it should, and two rows of teeth like glassy needles glinted in the firelight.

"I will _enjoy_ killing you, human. No, Lexion of Carim."

Lex struggled to pull free, but he simply didn't have the strength to break the roots of a Chaos-tree. Rare would be the human who did. The bindings grew tighter than ever, but the witch didn't simply choke him to death. She held up her sword where he could see it. It wasn't simply crude; it was a fragment of demon exoskeleton, probably from one of the spider's own molts. It was a curve of several individual serrated blades with spines between them and a skirt of roots for a guard.

Of course, that hardly mattered when the witch drove it up through his stomach. His entrails melted from the flame and oozed out over the hungry roots, which slowly drank in the viscera. He felt the blade against his back. He felt the flame. His breath was already thin and his vision fading.

"Goddess…"

"She will not help you, Lexion of Carim," the witch taunted, stroking the side of his face, her long nails drawing blood. "She watches, and she plots. Then, she lets others act on her behalf. As when she destroyed Izalith."

Lex couldn't hear her.

"Goddess… Not again… Not again…" he whimpered.

The fire ran over him, but hollows were just as tough as they looked. Without any fats, they were slow to burn as long as they didn't dry out. Damp from the swamp, his robes too resisted immediate burning and merely smoldered. The ancient herbs packed in the crow-faced mask filled the chamber with the smell of incense.

"My, I should burn priests more often."

The pain was excruciating. When he had burned at the stake, Lex had given up the ghost when his organs ruptured. Hollows were indeed tough. He remained fully conscious until all his blood had boiled from his body. The witch gave one last thrust of the blade.

"Return to your bonfire, Lexion of Carim. Tell your Goddess that _Quelaag Rochir_ will cut down any undead she sends after that Bell. _Velja noc_ and good riddance."


	13. Holy Diver

Everywhere was utter black or hazy white or some subtle shade of gray which barely differed from the countless others. It took a dedicated ear to parse the howling thunder from the roaring surf as all the world screamed. Water poured from the sky and burst from the sea in equal measure so that nothing was dry for more than the length of the flashing lightning. Shapes that resembled but were certainly not seabirds raced through the clouds, blacker than night. Their reflections prowled the depths below, bloodying the waters with lesser monsters.

White waves crested over black sea and broke over a white shore. A single island disturbed the surface of the deep. Against it crashed the ocean with all its might, and the beasts that dwelled within prowled its shallows and gullies. Eight fragile and broken arms had nearly been washed away, and the ruins of a breakwater bound the whole star in a great ring. Amidst the depths of the rain and fog, terrible and colossal shadows waded through the impossible deep to complete the destruction and lay the island bare.

In bold defiance of nature stood the one structure of the island. It was a tall and spindly tower, a great edifice of stone bound and again in iron. The sea-salt had eaten and bleached the rock while the water had turned cold iron burning red. The structure creaked and groaned as the winds abused it and the water shifted the grounds on which it stood.

A great wave washed some manner of disgusting and malformed creature upon the shore. Then as the water drew away, it dragged its victim back into the lightless depths. Fighting for its life, the tiny sea-thing pulled the water with all its might. The black leviathans below smelled its tangy blood and gurgled toward the surface with impassive thirst.

The shore was too far and the creature too weak. It was swept along with the next wave and crashed on the wasted sea-wall. The bulk of the wall lay beneath the pounding waves, but of the sturdy pillars which had once upheld it, a few remained somewhat intact. Hand over hand, the pitiful sea-beast scaled the ancient edifice. Wind and waves had washed it smooth and devoid of details, but the salt had left it pitted and gritty again.

The pillar had fallen once before but remained upright through sheer weight. It listed on its foundation, legs crumbled beneath it and one arm lost to the waves. A broken sword was raised in challenge to the creatures which ruled the sea and sky. The statue's face had been scoured featureless long ago, but the pitiful creature found safe haven beneath the statue's cowl. So great was the pillar's scale that the creature could comfortably stretch out betwixt its chin and collar.

The monsters below wracked against the pillar's foundation, and the structure rocked. The creature couldn't remain there for long. The wind howled like a beast beneath the cowl, and the whole of the statue was caked in sea salt. As if swimming in the brine wasn't bad enough, the raw grains scraped and tore the creature's bloody wounds deeper.

The tiny thing climbed atop the long, sloping helm and jumped from the base of a plume long ago snapped off. The impact of the water against the creature's body after such a tremendous jump should have snapped it in half, but it was a monster too and had its monster's pride. The nearest leviathan butted against the pillar in chase, but its own violence broke loose another fragment of the statue's upraised blade. The ancient stone plunged into the waves and tore through the monster's tail. More blood filled the black sea, and greater fiends rose in search of larger prey.

By the time the tiny creature crashed upon the beach, coughing and choking, its pursuer had been reduced to shredded viscera and shattered bone. The other pitiful creatures of the shallows rushed out in search of sustenance, only to be devoured by the dead thing's kin, which had no qualms about using their fallen as bait. The exhausted sea-beast turned away from the carnage and likewise left its fellows to their fate.

Ahead lay an agonizing stretch – a white road of salt which seemed to go on forever. Blank white eyes squinted in the brightness. The trail shimmered before the creature, dazzling the denizen of the lightless depths. The thing followed the light up, along the salt-white walls and gleaming red iron. There it was at the tower's peak – the Light.

A thin shadow stretched out behind the creature as he took his first steps along the road. The path wound one way and another but ever onward. In some places, it had been washed away, and the creature had to wade or swim. Even in these shallows, he had to watch carefully for danger as sea-beasts his own size were hardly less hungry than the leviathans of the deep. They stalked him from afar or watched while concealed beneath the salt or shallows.

He met their dark gazes with his own and continued cautiously. It was tempting to simply stare at the Light in the distance, guiding his way, but the moment he forgot the others were watching him, he would be devoured. His eyes flitted to and fro, and he continued forward tirelessly.

As he neared the tower and its Light, he could make out the shapes of his kin more clearly. Where once there had been shifting shades with burning red eyes, he saw distinct forms, pitiful and frail creatures like himself. They skulked after him for desperation – there were no creatures smaller than they, and they were too fearful to seek the scraps left by larger beasts in the deeper waters. The walking creature straightened his gait and rose above them.

They snarled and bared their countless teeth, but they could no longer meet his eyes, a glimmer of Light reflected in them. He marched past the salted bones of those who had come before and faltered or been devoured. Inverse masks of their final despair lay imprinted in the salt where they had fallen, but he looked down only to face one of the pitiful things which sought to ambush him as it had others. He repelled it with only the budding spark inside as his scales began to peel and his claws and teeth fell out with his dripping blood.

He had become a disgusting thing, pale and clean from the colorless brine. His long limbs which had been streamlined for swimming and prying into crevices hung gangly on him out of the waters. White eyes yet still gleamed from white lids. It would not be long now, as they held the tower reflected in them.

Black smoke poured from the tower's aperture, darker than the storm or sea. Black soot fell upon the white salt, dyeing it ashen gray. Black flecks gathered in the pitted stone and iron of the tower, and black fumes oozed from its cracks. The whole structure shuddered inward and outward like the stuttered beating of a failing heart. Yet above the wreck shone the most precious thing in the benighted world – the Light.

Four pedestals ringed the flickering Flame. One held no trace of a statue ever having been there, and its match was splintered into ruin. The pair on the rear side could not be seen, and the creature hardly felt compelled to explore the salts crumbling betwixt the tower's weight and the ocean's churning. Already, the entrance was halfway buried beneath the piling dunes. It was only thanks to the creature's pitiful size that he was easily able to pass through the open arch.

An uncontrolled slide down the mountain of salt followed, and he tumbled into a pitch-dark room. The interior was of such scale that he risked catching a foot between the stones of the floor. If he fell into one of the dark cracks where the floor had broken, there would likely be no escape. Finding his way through the cavernous dark would be an endeavor of its own.

It should have been, and it certainly would have been for a creature native to that white beach. But the creature was a sea-beast at heart, no matter how the Light had changed him. He could feel the current, even in this place. Just as he had in the blackest depths, he followed it upward. The cold air poured down the winding staircase along the outer wall.

His sea legs struggled under the effort of crossing such a wide, stable span, so unlike the churning sea or the shifting salt road. Gravity was his greatest foe, pulling him down toward the fatal cracks in the floor where the gentle waters would let him fly with but a kick of his feet. He made good time to the base of the steps but was then left with the herculean task of climbing them like sheer cliff walls. Even as his senses could follow the flow of air upward, the stairs spiraled endlessly into the darkness above.

With his claws fallen away, there was no means of attempting the climb. Blank eyes scoured the shadows about the room for something to use. A fine layer of soot coated everything, but there was no dust. It must have been abandoned for years. He could see old lamps on the walls, long since gone cold and seeping congealed oil.

The room wasn't terribly large on the scale of the tremendous beings who had once inhabited it – there was barely room for the guards to maneuver with their great weapons. The towering men slumped as they stood, though in slumber or death, the sea-beast couldn't tell. Their winged helms were dark of the burning eyes the pitiful creature had come to expect. Yet it was there that he found his solution. It would risk their attention, but he could climb the nearer guard's resting sword for a higher vantage point to survey the whole of the chamber.

The tiny creature made his grueling way back toward the salt-filled entrance. Cautiously, he took hold of either side of the soot-stained blade. Willing himself onward, he mounted it and began to climb as the razor's edge stretched on beneath him. Higher and higher he went, soon reaching a dizzying distance from the floor. He wasn't used to this gravity, but he had to press on or else be shorn in half.

It was some time longer before the creature found his harrowing journey drawing to a close. Yet as he paused his tiring body to think on how to climb onto the sword's guard, it creaked beneath his weight. The metal screamed and then the creature. The ancient, rusted iron gave way, and the knight's lower arm fell off. The creature was dashed to the floor in a deluge of salt that nearly drowned him.

With the standing corpse off-balance, it listed to one side and then toppled, bowling over the one beside it. The two armors fell to the floor with a tremendous crash and the rushing of salt. The coarse powder had saved the tiny creature from death, but the sharp grains dug into his flesh. Worse, whatever titans had built the tower now surely knew he was here. Like his cruel kin outside, he burrowed into the salt as quickly as he could, in spite of the burning pain it inflicted on his bleeding wounds.

The sea-beast waited beneath the salt for what seemed an eternity, his eyes burning. At long last, he heard the heavy footsteps of a creature tremendous enough to crush him with impunity. Even if he still had his claws, they would merely scratch and irritate such a monster's skin.

Only, the titan was less than half the colossus he thought it would be. Anything of that size would thunder with every step, but what crept sheepishly into the room was hardly the monster the sea-beast had expected from the horrors outside. Its soft, pale skin would tear just as easily as his own. At that size, it could not even hide as he did. Yet there it was, a great helpless thing with neither armor nor weapon.

A mere hatchling. No, that was wrong. A child.

It wore a billowing white gown and was crowned with feathered black hair that trailed to the floor. The enormous child hid ineffectively halfway up the stairs. In spite of its fear, it hid something behind its body, concealed in a white sleeve broad enough to be the mainsail of a small ship.

" _Ai?_ " a pitiful voice rang out. "Hail?"

What was that? What was that sound in his ears? What made it dance in his head? It burned through the fog in his mind.

Like thunder booming, the child took another step.

"Hail?" it said again.

The sea-beast felt compelled to cry out in response.

"HEY," he repeated clumsily.

The child jumped.

"Who trespasseth upon these grounds?"

"HEY," he tried again.

"S-show thyself!"

"HEY."

The colossus started to retreat in fear, but it stopped.

"Is that all you can say?"

"HEY."

The child gazed into the darkness of the room. It turned back to its hidden treasure worriedly, then descended the rest of the stairs. It glanced to and fro in search of the voice as it approached the fallen armors. The sea-beast knew he had to choose. Now that he had drawn the colossus to him, he could perhaps sneak onto its robes and be carried up the tower.

Yet there was no guarantee that this child titan could reach the uppermost level where the Light was kept. He bit his lip with razor teeth, drawing blood. At last, he rose from the salt and held his arms wide.

"HEY!" he roared.

The pitiful creature fell over backward in fright from the speed at which the enormous thing turned its head. The child likewise jumped, hiding its treasure. The pair stared at one another for several long moments. Featureless white eyes looked into a mismatched pair of red and blue. The titan edged closer and leaned over the fallen armor.

Slowly, it slipped one hand out of its ridiculous sleeves and reached toward the salt. The sea-beast took one step back but then stopped. One finger came just short of touching him. He reached out to it. The titan was closer now, face pressed into the salt and staring over the edge at him.

The child's nervous breathing was like a gale that couldn't decide which way it wanted to blow. A long moment passed, and the titan's head tilted to one side in thought. Carefully, it twisted its hand on the salt. It pressed its flat, nonthreatening nails into the grain. The tiny creature stared at it.

The titan's hand quivered as it pressed the nails down deeper. The creature continued staring. The titan pressed the nails down as deep as it could, then jabbed them forward. The force of even the slight movement was tremendous, and the sea-beast crumpled. The titan lifted its fingers gently, cupping its hand. It flipped the creature over, knocking the wind out of him, then squeezed its hand tight, just barely avoiding crushing him.

Without warning, it sprinted back across the room and up the stairs. Round and round they went, the tiny sea-beast smashed back and forth against the titan's palm and fingers. When at last they came to a stop, the creature was dumped unceremoniously on the sooted floor once more. He rose only with great effort and looked around.

It was brighter here, with a handful of candles burning low on sconces. Still, it wouldn't be long before they had burned to the last, and the room would fall into the same darkness as the outside of the tower. Judging by how many times he had been jostled, they were quite high up. There was a large, round bed a short distance away. Opposite was a small garden in a wooden box. It seemed to thrive in spite of the salted earth, providing the room with a small bit of color.

The girl immediately went to the garden and picked a small red fruit. She tore the tiniest shred from it and handed the piece to the former sea-beast. She showed him the rest of the fruit for emphasis and popped it in her mouth. She was showing him it was safe to eat. Not that he had much of a choice – she could easily just crush him.

He dug into the scrap, ravenous from his earlier journey. The tiny shred was still large in his hands, and there was no easy way of eating it. Red pulp and juice dripped from his mouth like blood. Yet his teeth had been flattened. It would be difficult to tear into the creatures outside viciously enough to cause such bloodshed.

The sea creature sat down. He couldn't remember the last time he had relaxed. Had he ever relaxed? Where was safe in that black sea? His head hurt. What had he been doing in a sea? He looked down at his hands and almost couldn't recognize them. His vision split and blurred.

Had it been poisoned after all? He fought to get back to his feet, but he was simply too tired. His new and unfamiliar hands lacked the strength of a sea creature. They began to give way under him, and he lowered himself to the floor so he wouldn't fall. He felt warm, too warm. Was a fever coming on?

He looked at his dry, shriveled hands again. He'd been out of the sea for too long. What sea? The goddess looked down at him. Gently, she scooped him back into her hand.

Her touch was too warm. He was too tired. He shouldn't have eaten. He couldn't fight like this. He couldn't-


	14. Closer

The bonfire flared wildly and oozed black smoke. Oscar sprung to his feet and tensed for combat, but Solaire remained seated on the slimy stone. From the smoke emerged a figure, an undead returning to its fate of endless rebirth. Dust from the bones which lay in the ashes of the fire blew along with the smoke, limning it and giving it form. A red-robed sorcerer stepped into the dim tunnel, a crow mask hiding his face.

"Hello there!" Solaire cried out, waving. "What a fortunate meeting this is! My companion and I were just about to challenge the master of the swamp. We would be more than willing to share in our resources if you would join us."

The knight waved to a vast quantity of purple moss cuttings strewn across the floor. There were also a few bundles of crude arrows and makeshift torches made from glowing blossoms of some sort.

"If you don't mind my asking, did you die in combat with the monster spider? We haven't caught sight of it yet, but the nest beneath the Shrine makes my hair stand on end."

The sorcerer's head sank into his hands. He groaned and rubbed his head.

"Your name," Oscar said, putting his hand on his sword. "Do you remember your name?"

The "sorcerer" removed his mask with a flourish. The hideous hollow underneath made seductive eyes and ran a hand through wispy hair, pulling most of it out.

"Why, it's your dear friend, Lexion of Carim."

"Welcome back! I would expect nothing less from a man of your humor," Solaire said, laughing.

Oscar was not impressed. He sighed and took a seat beside Solaire.

"I think we're fine on moss," he said, picking up the conversation from before Lex had appeared. "What worries me is only having the one estus flask for the two, now three of us. We've been lucky so far. Lex's healing will help. But in a combat situation, we don't have time to stop and wait on a prayer. We can't just stand there like Havel the Rock, shields raised, while Lex invokes his goddess."

Lex made an elaborate show of displeasure, with a ridiculous grimace and throwing his arms up in this air before sitting down with the two knights.

"By the holy mother Gwynevere, I haven't been back five minutes, and you're already shit-talking me. And you don't seem very surprised, either!"

"Would you have preferred I thought you dead?"

"Well, no! But showing some worry wouldn't hurt."

"It is good to see you again, too, Lex. Here."

He reached back and grabbed a shield that had been leaning against the wall. It was a kite in long faded yellow and green, split vertically. A pattern of winding grasses adorned the front, but it was otherwise unremarkable.

"It's long time you had a proper shield," Oscar said. "It seems you found everything _but_ a shield. It's fortunate we found this one on the way here."

"Wow. Thanks. Uh, blessings of Gwynllian on you for your generosity."

"Who-?"

The instant the prophet's fingers touched the shield, his left eye rolled back. He shuddered, and Oscar quickly yanked it away. Only, Lex came with the shield, fingers digging into the side.

"No, I need to see it if the Goddess' gift shows me."

They had not left the prison unsupervised. He saw it, the founding of ancient and lost Oolacile. The shield was a relic they had brought with them. Before, the gods had cast Man to the end of the earth, but now they built a grand city in the holy wood beneath Anor Londo. Only, the nearness of the light had done a splendid job of blinding them to the Dark. It burst from below the city and devoured them from the inside.

"There it is again," Lex mumbled. "That hunger."

"Oh?" Solaire said. "Communing with the gods must be famishing. Now, I think I still have a bit of jerky here somewhere."

While Solaire searched for the dried meat, Oscar was perfectly still, looking at Lex.

"What? I'm not going hollow. Actually…"

He strapped the shield on his back and looked at his shriveled hands, more tough and dry than the jerky Solaire was looking for. He tugged at his scraggly white hair, and more fell out. He grunted in disgust.

"Yeah, let's fix this."

He dug into one of his belt pouches and pulled up a viscous mass of souls, warm and seeping. It was blacker than night but limned with a white purer than anything in nature. The sprite danced in his palm, looking into his blank white eyes with a pair of its own. The prophet scowled.

He swallowed it whole.

The Dark strengthened him, but he knew better now than to trust it. He turned to the bonfire and held out a hand as if to ignite it again. A spark leapt from the bones and touched his skin. A burning wave of pain washed over him as Fire filled his flesh. It burned up the squirming Dark Soul he had devoured and resurrected his failing flesh into the imitation of the gods it was meant to be.

Lex had noble looks for a man of Carim, whose legitimate nobility more often resembled predatory beasts. That said, the heroic proportions of his face didn't match his spindly body. His hair was the usual silver of his people, well-groomed and drawn back but not yet tonsured. The right eye was a sort of muddy green, but the left was the deep violet of dusk.

"That's better. What do you think? Am I Gwyn's gift to Man?"

Solaire laughed and clapped: "Quite the looker, for a priest. A shame the gods will have the pleasure to themselves."

"Oh, you tease. I envy you Astorans. Carim is right next to Lordran, and we end up with these bird noses. It's a sin."

"You're human again," Oscar said. "If you still had your wits, there was no need to waste the humanity. Even with the three of us, you could easily die in this poison swamp. Then you'll be back to hollowing."

"If that happens, I'll put the mask back on so no one has to look at me anymore."

"I should have known better. I walked right into that. More importantly, you did die. What happened?"

Solaire raised a hand in objection.

"A little bit soon for that, don't you think, Oscar?"

Lex just shrugged.

"It's fine. I fought the guardian of the Bell with only this prod," he said, spinning the spiked catalyst between his fingers. He dropped it, then continued while wiping the slime off, "I got one good hit in with my attack miracle, but that was it."

"That mysterious voice in the rafters. The so-called Blightbaron. He spoke like this would be a simple matter."

"It sounded like the demon down here has never heard of him. You didn't catch his name, did you? I can mostly remember it, but I'd butcher the pronunciation. Maybe she just doesn't know the title?"

"She?"

"The demon was a witch."

Oscar and Solaire looked at one another. Solaire sighed, then nodded.

"Lex," Oscar said. "As kind of it was for you to arrange our passage, we may need to retreat and better prepare if we're to face a Chaos Witch. We can make one attempt to learn what we're up against. If we don't make it, don't be disappointed if we suggest a return to the Parish. We can scavenge better equipment from the Balder Knights and teach you to fight – or at least to defend yourself."

"No, I get it. I've read as many histories as I have legends. I know that regular people can't just stride forth against the armies of evil and triumph. That said, I think I've got this. Just give me one more try."

"Really?"

Solaire interrupted, saying, "Now, Oscar, there's no need for that."

"So the thing is," Lex said, "she really hates Goddess Berenike for some reason."

"I didn't expect this of you, Lex," Oscar said, nodding. "Using her hate to blindside her."

"I wasn't going to say that, but okay. Anyway, you'll see me come out of the bonfire if my plan backfires, so if I just disappear, it's a good thing, and you don't need to rescue me. Unless I'm gone for a _really_ long time, in which case, I've been turned into living egg sac, so you should probably come and mercy kill me."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Solaire said worriedly. "I'm sure you'll do magnificently."

"Thanks! And can I get some of that moss? No, not the- Well, actually, yes, but- I'll just grab it."

Most of the moss was a rich purple, but there were some cutting that were a rosy red. Still a smaller number of the cuttings were taken from a matured part of the purple moss and had delicate white flowers. The memories of the Sealer who had worn his robes flowed through his left eye. The red moss thickened the blood to slow bleeding, and the purple helped the body to metabolize poisons. The mature, flowered moss could detoxify even the most vile pestilence. It was this moss he took, putting it in a pouch and leaving the tunnel.

"Wish me luck!"

"Looking forward to your success," Oscar said.

"May you fight with the valor of the Lord of Sunlight!" Solaire added.

Lex headed straight for the demon's lair, pushing through the swamp as quickly as he could. He paused only to keep the poison from overwhelming him, using his curative miracle. This time, he didn't play it safe with the slide into the lair, instead skating down with all the speed he could muster. He stumbled to a stop amidst the praying egg hosts and approached the soul fog without hesitation.

"Chaos Witch Quelaag!" he shouted with all the power in his slim body.

He had only a moment to wait before the demon emerged from the ruined belfry at the end of the chamber. Its skittering, twitching legs danced like fingers on the loom. Now that he thought of the whole thing as a witch, he realized just how much more dangerous it was than the other demons. Even the dumb, drooling spider that was the lower body moved with deliberation that the brute beasts hadn't.

"Have you made peace with your goddess?" she spat. "Has she taken your doubt with lies and excuses? I hope you have found your meaning in this. You will not leave this place, slave."

"No, I didn't contact her. And the last time we spoke, she told me to question everything."

"Good! You will be asking what sin you've committed to deserve the fate I will visit upon you!"

The spider charged at him with a roar, leaping the great distance between them with a burst of flame. Ready for the attack, Lex rolled under its body and unleashed his occult shockwave. The demon rocked back but caught itself before it flipped over. Legs like spears rained around the cleric. He wove through them carefully and held his new shield to the front in case he was caught by surprise.

The beast wheeled around, and the witch atop it drew her burning sword through the air. It sheared across the face of the shield, nearly knocking Lex away. The heat that washed over him alone was enough to make him wince, but he raised his crossbow under the shield and shot Quelaag in her exposed middle. As she staggered, he ran close to her, hiding between the spider's head and its first leg while he began to pray.

Before he could loose the shockwave, the witch grabbed him with the long nails of her free hand and threw him away with surprising strength. He barely had time to regain his feet before she had fallen upon him again. The witch held her sword upraised, almost as if in salute. Lex recognized the familiar posture in the unfamiliar place this time. She was a horseman.

Sure enough, she leveled her blade and drove through him. He had the delightful choice between being cut in half and being trampled.

"Goddess, give me wings."

He jumped.

The cleric collided in midair with the spider's head, knocking the wind out of him and startling the demon. It jumped back defensively, throwing the witch on top of the pile as she was unable to brace herself for the sudden movement. Lex hadn't recovered enough to chant, so he stabbed upward with the spiked catalyst, impaling it in Quelaag's left arm. She screamed a very human scream and tore the wound by trying to wrench free.

Being jerked one way and another, Lex struggled to stabilize himself, stepping on several of the spider's eyes. It winced with its whole body, throwing the priest and the witch forward again. With no other options, he stuffed his talisman in a pouch and grabbed Quelaag's vine-hair with his shield hand. The witch yelped, then snarled, showing her countless glassy needle-teeth.

The vines pulled back, trying to wrap his arm, so Lex gave in. Instead of being trapped, though, he thrust with the pull, smashing the edge of the shield into the witch's face. In retaliation, she punched him in the side with her sword hand. Her demonic strength alone snapped several ribs, and the spikes on the sword's guard pierced his lung. Gasping, he fell forward, losing his grip on the catalyst.

His arm had slipped to his side, so he pulled the lash from his waist. As the witch tried to pull the spike from her arm, he whipped her hands. With her grip half-open to grab the catalyst, she dropped her sword. The burning blade fell across Lex's back, searing through the threadbare robe as the weapon slid off. He screamed as it burned away the scars of countless lashings. The spider caught the sword with its tongue, but Quelaag was in no position to take it back.

Lex wasn't quite sure how he was still moving, but as long as he was, he was stil alive. He felt life surging from his left hand, from the green flower of the ring and the crest of grass on the shield. Undead didn't tire, but his energy felt boundless. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Tell me, then," he wheezed. "What did Goddess Berenike do? What made you hate her?"

That close, there was no way she could have missed when she spat in his face.

"A false name for a false deity. She is the ruin of the Age of Fire. I cannot name her crimes against the gods of Sunlight, nor against the Dead. Against Izalith, she has committed a sin so great that it taints the world. She destroyed it! The Wish of Izalith, the Chaos Kiln and an everlasting Fire.

There are but cinders at the cost of Lord Gwyn's life, and our demons slowly seep into the world. No matter your blind hate for my kind, it is your goddess' fault they are loose upon the lands of Men."

She punctuated the story with her iron nails in Lex's gut. He coughed, and flecks of blood from the pierced lung coated his lips.

"To cause all of that misery, she sunk her talons into my family. Just like this."

Lex's eyes watered from the pain.

"Are you going to cry out? Will you beg her to save you? She won't, you know. You're not useful to her like this. She won't save you."

Lex mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"De-"

"Louder, priest! Maybe Anor Londo will hear you!"

"Deeper!"

"You beg for death?"

"A little to the left!"

The witch stopped and stared. She slowly and painfully withdrew her nails. Lex licked his lips, spreading blood across them.

"What manner of behavior is this?"

Lex swallowed, gasping for enough air to speak.

"I am a deacon of the Deep. We tear our sinful flesh in penance. Pain purifies, and so I was put to death by burning. Then you did it again. You asked if I lay with the Goddess? She has not so much as lain hand upon my brow! You! Demon! You've shown me how deep pain can go!

The Goddess has given me the power to see the truth and demanded that I question everything!" He laughed madly. "Why should I not question her? Let me feel the pain of betrayal by my savior like the night my brother-deacons sent me to the flames!"

"You mock me, priest?"

Quelaag grabbed him by the throat.

"I could break you so that you feel nothing. I could deny you the release of death. You won't be an egg host; you would just enjoy it, wouldn't you? No, I will isolate you and leave you insensate. If pain is your pleasure, then I will leave you numb and still."

With negotiations failing, Lex turned to his trump card. He stared deep into the demon's eyes. In them, he found whorls like overgrown vines. They twitched and burned as he stared, the pupils always on the verge of bursting and spilling black into the red-green.

His vision shuddered and twisted as his mind was pulled a thousand years into the past. Too many things were happening. He couldn't keep track of anything. How much of Chaos' corruption had been before the fall of Izalith and how much after? Events and emotions ran into one another. It was one thing to draw a vision from the Goddess' memories of a place or from the faint echoes attached to an artifact. Trying to peer into the memories of a soul directly nearly blinded him.

Even as he tried to return to the present, he could see it with only his right eye. His left saw superimposed pale shades of every adventurer who had fought Quelaag for the last thousand years. As he regained focus, he found nothing had changed. The demon hadn't used the vision as an opportunity to paralyze him or bind him. Her eyes were unfocused and frightened.

"Mother…" she whimpered.

The spider crumpled to the stone, cowering. Quelaag's burning sword went cold. With the sound of a sea breeze, the soul fog blocking both entrances gently blew away.

"What did I just see? What hideous power did she give you that could make me relive that?"

"Relive? Then you saw it too?"

"Of course," she hissed, "the priest as just as blind as the deity. Go. Ring your damned bell. Let the crows eat all our eyes."

Her hair released Lex's hand, and he climbed down without issue. Quelaag jerked the catalyst out of her arm and handed it back dejectedly. Lex slung it back in its loop and hung his shield on his back. He gingerly sat down so as not to damage his ribs any more than they already were. Hands shaking, he reached into a pouch and withdrew the holy talisman. A quick chant, and healing rays washed over cleric and demon alike. It wasn't enough to repair the serious damage both had taken, but it was enough to stop the injuries from growing worse.

"What is it now?" Quelaag sighed. "You patronize me. No healing could be a match for the undead, but this sort of wound will close overnight."

"Does night even happen here? I'm pretty sure the sun is in a fixed location depending on where you're standing."

"That far gone, is it? The Fire hasn't much time left. Go, ring your bell. Do whatever that monster asks of you. If naught else, I can't imagine her simply letting it go out."

"Then we're on the same side after all."

"No. You are a fool, and it is little wonder you did not achieve as a priest."

"You keep calling me a priest. I clearly have all of my hair. I'm just a deacon."

"And you? You expect a demon to know the particulars of some church founded while she was hiding in a hole for a thousand years? I could more easily tell you what a bishop tastes like."

"Well, basically, a deacon has sworn to serve the gods but not committed their entire being. They're still allowed to be selfish in some respects."

"You are leading to some example, I presume."

"Well, yeah." He opened a different pouch and removed the flowered moss, somewhat crumpled by the fight. "Would you accept this token of my affections, dear lady?"


	15. But a Drop of Fuel for a Nightmare

"Fool," Quelaag sighed. "You humans follow whatever base desire crosses your tiny minds. Now you are so used to being abused by your gods that you confuse violence for affection. Get out of my sight before I regain my nerve."

"Oh," Lex said.

He wasn't really sure where to go from there. He winced and shifted to a kneeling position, putting the moss back in its pouch. With a quick stroke, he took the lash across his blistered back. There wasn't much power behind the strike thanks to the broken ribs restricting his movement, but it was utterly agonizing on his charred flesh. The cleric gurgled in the back of his throat as his sight blurred. This wasn't a vision; he'd simply reached the point where any more pain would render him unconscious.

"What are you doing, priest? You already have one foot in the Gravelord's realm."

Lex had to take a moment to focus before he could speak. With the adrenaline gone, all his injuries were really starting to weigh on him, at least as much as they could affect a half-numb undead.

"I made a fool of myself. I was just inflicting the proper discipline so I would think twice before asking the favor of a lady, much less a demon."

A dry smile cracked across Quelaag's face.

"Humans. When there is nothing for you to devour, you turn upon yourselves."

Lex quirked an eyebrow.

"So the demons still remember what we were? Before the gods bound us in their image?"

"What you were? What you are and have always been. What is the saying in Anor-tongue? 'Like putting lipstick on a pig.' Your outer ugliness is hidden, but you are still the same pygmies, stunted alike in body and spirit. Your hunger and inadequacy yet still drive all you do. Only shame keeps your inner monstrosity in check. I am surprised that manipulator would reveal the secret to you."

"The Goddess didn't, exactly. She gave me the power of visions, but as you saw, I don't have control of it. I doubt she does either. I'm… sorry about whatever it is you saw."

"The end of my people. Of my family. Of the last hope for the Age of Fire. Your so-called goddess destroyed them all."

"You can't just say something and expect me to believe it. Questioning the holy 'truth' is what got me killed, after all."

"I have no wish to speak it aloud."

She glared at him.

"Yet if I do not, you will no doubt try to pry the secret from me with that wretched power of yours."

"I wouldn't use it on you again-"

"But you would use it all the same. That is a human: never willing to leave well enough alone. So be it. I will tell you before you see for yourself and misunderstand."

The witch waved her hand, drawing sprites in the air that moved on their own. One rose above them all, with a crown of flames and a smoldering beard.

"This was a thousand years ago, before Lord Gwyn departed to Link the Flame. The gods still dwelt in Anor Londo, but they feared the growing Dark more than anything. It was Gwyn's thought that repressing the Dark would allow the Fire to regain its strength. Mother, the great Witch of Izalith, thought differently."

Seven figures clustered around a larger one, wielding staffs that shone with a fearsome light.

"The Kiln of the First Flame had been built to house and focus the power which had made the Lords. Yet it no longer sufficed. Mother intended to use what we had learned about the humans and the Dark to create a new Kiln, a Chaos Kiln which would never die. Yet the grand experiment was sabotaged twofold."

The crowned figure representing Gwyn was surrounded by more with lesser crowns. The largest staff-bearing figure, representing the Witch of Izalith, passed along a row of smaller figures, lighting their staffs one by one.

"The first attack was simple but insidious – someone would crack the Kiln itself so that it would rupture and backfire. The second was an act of utter hate. You have heard tales of many kinds of demons, no doubt. We are not a single people. Mother was kin to Lord Gwyn. Yet where the Lord of Sunlight granted his soul first to his dear family, Mother granted it to those who shared her vision. Among them were pygmies."

A figure with a tremendous, bulbous head formed of sickly, yellow flame.

"Our sire was one such pygmy, a master sorcerer who learned any art put before him. It was no surprise Mother was attracted to him. Yet he was ruthless in pursuit of his goals. No cost was too great, and in accordance with your people's bottomless hunger, he was never satisfied. If you think my form grotesque, you should behold what had become of him before Izalith's fall."

A grotesquely exaggerated figure, like a barbarian fertility idol, sauntered past.

"Mother's attentions were wholly directed to the creation of the new Kiln. She had no time to indulge our sire's petty, human wants. The Queen of Anor Londo showed him her favor, and her daughters. Possessed by our great work, we never suspected – until Beryf paid visit to offer apology for her daughter. A child had been conceived."

The image that followed was incomprehensible: some terrible, writhing thing.

"Flame is dangerous. Chaos… there can be no describing it to someone who has not experienced it firsthand. Mother was in no state of mind to carry out the experiment."

Quelaag's voice began to crack, but she continued without faltering.

"Time was short, and we thought the rest of us sufficient to support her. We never expected the Kiln to rupture. Only Mother, at her strongest, could have hoped to stop the ritual as it fell upon the city."

The swirling, whirling form continued weaving upon itself, but Lex was beginning to recognize bits of it. Faces and the heads of beasts surged and combined again and again.

"Our people were strong and wise, and though they shared no blood, they were true kin. The pygmies among us, unlike their cruder cousins, had offered the Dark within them willingly as fuel for the Kiln. Drained and weak of soul from the process, they gave into their bestial nature. The gods of our people were stronger, but only became more dangerous in their madness for it."

"It turned you into this?" Lex interrupted.

"No. We made ourselves into these monsters. At the time, we thought only of 'better.' Imagine a farmer is offered the strength of an ox in his own body. It could be the difference between life and death come harvest-time. So he accepts and becomes an auroch demon. Like the ancient Pygmy Lords who bound your people into those beautiful forms, the farmer cares not what he must abandon in exchange. _Lords_ , how could we have been as shortsighted as the pygmies?"

"I see. You fused yourself with your horse."

"Not a horse, certainly, but you are correct. I am _Quelaag Rochim –_ Master of the Horse for the court of Izalith. And you, Deacon Lexion of Carim, are a very poor cleric. You ask about the form of a demon but do not question the blasphemy against a Princess of Sunlight."

"I-" Lex hung on the word for several seconds, "don't know enough to make a judgment. But I think you're too shaken to be lying to me. So I believe _you_ think you're telling the truth."

"You bottom-feeders are certainly adaptable."

Unsteady, Quelaag forced the spider to its feet. It returned her sword to her, but the blade remained extinguished. She pointed to the belfry with it.

"Go. I've sated your damnable curiosity. Maybe I'll be lucky, and you'll use that traitor's eyes against her."

"Wait, just one more thing," Lex said as he struggled to his feet, clutching his broken ribs. "You said that demons were seeping out into the rest of the world. Don't you Chaos Witches rule them?"

"Never. We created them, but Mother would not be bound by the duties of rule. The King of Izalith was an appointed position given to the one most suited for it. Our sire, of course. If only we had not exiled him, so that he might have burned with the rest of us."

She gripped her sword with white knuckles, then sighed.

"Tradition continues, in a manner of speaking. The demons are ruled by the strongest now. The so-called _Narithron_ , or Firesage, the last fire sorcerer to retain his wits. He is their heretical high priest and master, who serves the wretched thing which has consumed Mother. I would challenge the creature, yet as you have noticed, this form of mine has an obvious weakness. The Firesage need not even use his magics; he would pulp me in an instant with brute strength alone.

Have no illusions about descending to the ruins of Izalith to slay him. He is greater than you can handle, pygmy. Yet fret not for your lands; we have restrained him as best we can. This lair is built atop the royal passage from Izalith; a vestige of Lord Gwyn's power blocks the main road; and my brother has flooded much of the ruins with impassable lava. You could not reach him, and the demons which can escape our blockade are few."

"But they do escape. They wiped out an entire town above… and the Goddess' monastery."

"Good riddance-"

"Okay, ignore the monastery! Just two – and I don't know how many more there were to begin with – killed a whole lot of people – including an entire order of giant-slaying knights. With the Flame dying, more undead are going to look to Lordran. If I'd come to fight you with the two knights accompanying me, would you have survived? Who'll stop the demons coming up if you're not here?"

"I never said that I stopped them directly. Yet, I see your concern. I am afraid there is naught which can be done. What pygmy is there who can withstand a club made from archtree?"

Abruptly, the witch's face darkened.

"Those knights you mentioned. They aren't…"

She gestured to her back as if she was holding a shield. It took Lex a moment to process the comment. He looked back to his own shield, remembering his visions of the primordial war with the archdragons and the prison which had contained his blood-drunk forebears.

"…are they?"

"Ringed Knights?" Lex whispered. "No. They're noble knights of Astora, the finest god-fearing men humanity can muster. One is a cultist of the nameless Firstborn who wields Gwyn's lightning. The other has common sense."

"How fearsome," Quelaag said flatly. "Yet I must say I remain unconvinced. Now, ring the bell and leave this place. Quickly, before you die of old age – or worse, you think of more questions."

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Lex groaned.

Quelaag watched keenly while he walked lightly toward the belfry. Reaching the foot of the steps was exhausting but not terribly difficult. Climbing them was a problem, though. Each rising step pressed on his broken ribs, and though he could handle the pain, it still made him wince and slowed his ascent. Round and round he went, eventually reaching the top of the tower and slipping out of the demon's sight.

The room which contained the bell was simple but still more elaborate than anything he'd seen in Carim. A broad, open window was opposite the doorway, leading to what had probably been a grand view in the time of Lord Gwyn. Ahead lay an immense cavern studded with decrepit ruins over a sea of burning lava floes. Lex realized with a start that it was the lava which was illuminating the demon's lair, its orange glow diffused through the layers of silk.

The light was captivating to some extent, but he had a sacred duty to fulfill. In spite of the webs and poisoned eggs, this was a sentry tower of the gods. Or was it? The Bell was unmistakably their craftsmanship. He could only imagine the level of effort put into detailing the mold for a human-sized bell. Yet the architecture around it was wrong. The powerful lines were absent, and there were no columns to be found. The entire structure was rounded and upheld by wide-open arches. Was this the technique of demon architects?

He focused on the Bell again. The lines were all there; this was the second Bell of Awakening. A long rope spun of some holy material hung from the clapper. He couldn't tell what it was, but no man-made rope would have endured for so long in these conditions. It trailed down past still more eggs to the base of the tower. Of course, it had never been intended for one coming from outside the tower to ring the Bell. In spite of his blistering back, Lex reached out to grab the cord over the pit.

Only, he hadn't anticipated how slick and velvety the material was. As he leaned further over the hole to get a better grip, his aching ribs buckled slightly. In panic, he grabbed the cord and mistakenly pulled himself further off-balance. He knew better than to be anywhere but the bottom of a belfry when a bell was rung (and hopefully not even there). Yet, there he was.

The holy bell's peal broke across the demon lands and the poisonous swamp above. It echoed in the wretched valley and over Firelink Shrine. More importantly, it stunned the deacon and sent him tumbling down the hole. He quickly became tangled in the cord and rang it again. The volume was too much for him, directly beneath the bell. Even if the cone was turned to one side with the pull, the narrow hole into which he'd fallen directed the sound right at him.

He fell the rest of the distance unceremoniously, nearly losing consciousness as something round and flat and roughly the size of a human head cut a ring into his back. He spent a few moments squeaking, in too much pain to muster a full scream. At last, he rolled over onto his good ribs and hauled himself to his feet.

Though the architecture of this room was similar to what he had seen above, the object on which he'd fallen certainly wasn't. There was a large dais in the center of the room depicting an unknowable number of interweaving vines. In the center was a raised nub, though what purpose it had beyond ruining his poor back, he couldn't tell. A spiral staircase along the outer wall would likely take him back up to the bell, but he stopped to look around.

Whatever evidence that there had once been guards posted here had long been swept away by the witch. Even moreso, the tower was almost suspiciously empty. For all the egg-infested worshipers above, there was nothing of the sort he would expect to see at a shrine or site of pilgrimage. There was no place for any attending staff to rest, nor was there anything for the benefit of visitors. Nevermind food or beds – there was no bonfire in a world quickly becoming undead. Though he conceded it would be strange for demons to care for a holy flame.

Beneath the base of the stairs, the walls had been broken into by brute force, and Lex could see a long, narrow passage. It cut into the side of the cavern, and the glowing light reflected on the walls indicated that it led into lava-flooded Izalith, hell itself. The other direction held a nauseating sight. His right eye saw a wall, and his left, a passage. He approached it cautiously, drawing his catalyst to prod the area.

Surprisingly, the solid wall leaned backward even under his meager strength. He walked to the edge of the distortion and wedged his catalyst into the inclination. The wall pulled outward more easily than inward, and he found it simple enough to open it a crack further. The space was definitely wide enough for him to enter.

Lex looked one way, then the other. There was no one watching, and Quelaag didn't seem to have followed him. As much as he would have hated for the other deacons to sneak into his chambers and find his forbidden tomes (both heretical and erotic), he couldn't help but be curious about what was hidden with such an elaborate trick. If the witch had managed to blockade the rest of the demons' passage, then it would be worthwhile to learn how it had been done.

Slipping inside, he realized that it had actually been the main passage through the rest of the fort. It was peculiar for one bell to be in such an elaborate location as the Parish while the other was simply in a tower above the Burg's runoff waste. As he looked back, he saw the false wall wasn't part of the original architecture. Its edges were melted from what must have been the demon's fiery sword – it had been taken from elsewhere. The top of the stolen panel had been bound to the ceiling with web, making a very convincing trapdoor.

The passage ahead was more than broad enough for even Quelaag's tremendous spider body – a human ruler's carriage could pass through it. It made sense if the fort had truly been built by demons. Only, the path narrowed quickly, until Quelaag would have difficulty fitting. It wasn't that the walls were closing in but that it was overflowing with densely-packed eggs. If he had to guess, he would find the heart of the nest ahead.

"Wait a second, do spiders lay unfertilized eggs? Oh, _Gwyn_ , did she eat her husband?"

The end of the passage came suddenly, and he found himself looking down at an egg-infested worshiper barring his path. The wretched man looked up with sick, yellow eyes.

"Oh dear," he said in a voice that was at once meek and prideful. "What have we here? Are you a new servant?"

"Um. No, I got lost."

"Then you shall not pass," the man said, self-satisfied. "Away with you!"

"You know, this is probably the shittiest temple I've been to. And I'm from Carim. Some of our temples are just random mud huts out in the woods where a saint died of frostbite or something."

"The nerve of you! Begone! Begone at once!

"You're right. At least this place has a roof."

Lex wasn't in great shape, but he still expected he could beat the worshiper if he needed to. The man couldn't even stand beneath the burden of the eggs. Taken together, the sack was the size of two men and yet somehow remained encysted in the cultist's dry, distended flesh.

"So what's back here anyway?"

"I said begone!"

"What are you even worrying about? You just asked if I was a servant – I could have lied. It's not like Quelaag walked me down here."

"Why you-! Out!"

"I'm just saying, as a fellow member of an unpopular sect, you've got to do more to make people want to join you. And frankly, the whole 'endless hell of egg cysts' isn't doing it. But I guess you're the demon cultist, so you know better than I do."

The egg-burdened worshiper gave up on talking. He puffed up, then exhaled a purple cloud that quickly filled most of the passage. Lex grabbed his throat, choking."

"Nooooo, the poooisoooon," he moaned in mock horror.

He grabbed his talisman and spat out the entire curative chant reflexively.

"McLoyf, where did you learn how to treat your guests? Even Quelaag wasn't that bad, and she outright killed me once, then tried a second time."

"You," the cultist began, thinking, "you possess the ability to cure toxins?"

"Either that, or I'm faking it while slowly dying of deadly poison."

"Listen here, you!" the wretch insisted, grabbing Lex by the ankle. "Mistress Quelaag let you enter the tower, but the inner sanctum she left to me while she guards the passage. Only a servant would normally be allowed to pass, but I will make special exception if you swear you will do no ill to the Fair Lady."

"I swear on the name of the Go-"

Now that he thought about it, mentioning his patron deity was probably a bad idea.

"-the gods and their works. I'll use my blessings as they were meant, for healing and for the betterment of mankind. Though I guess healing demon worshipers is probably the opposite of that. Whatever; what are they going to do, kill me again?"


	16. Feed the Gods

"This way," the egg-burdened worshiper urged, turning around as fast as he could while pressed to the ground. "If there is even a chance that you can help the Fair Lady, then there is not a moment to lose!"

The wretch dragged himself along the worn stones of the floor and into a broad, circular chamber. It was centered around the missing bonfire Lex had been wondering about, though a ring of dirt had been erected around the fire as if to stop its spread. That was peculiar, as bonfires were understood to be fixed, unable to leave their base of bones and the coiled sword that sparked them. Perhaps the demon eggs could be ignited by the holy fire?

Indeed, one side of the chamber had been wholly filled with eggs, so that Lex could only tell it had been circular from the way the wall beside the archway led outward. The other wall, however, had been destroyed, and bricks were strewn about. A burrow had been dug into the side of the cavern behind it, and in that burrow rested another spider demon like Quelaag.

Only, this one was deathly ill. Witch and spider alike were as white as the ashen bones within the bonfire. The pair shivered with sickness, the spider lain flat upon the ground and the witch huddled in desperate prayer. A Chaos Witch, praying? Lex's guide approached her but then turned back to face him.

"This is Our Fair Lady. You do not need to know her story. Only, that she swallowed the great Blightpus and saved us at the cost of herself. If the gods have any mercy at all, cure her. She does not deserve to suffer in our stead."

Lex took a deep breath. The purging of poisons and disease were among the hallmarks of the Cathedral of the Deep. Yet he was still only a junior deacon. He had not yet learned of the Deep's full mystery. If he was lucky, his spell would be powerful enough to grant some relief, but there was no way it would be enough to cure such an affliction.

"Please, give me a moment to study. My power may not be enough."

"Make it quick. Only the bonfire sustains the Fair Lady. As the Fire fades, so does she."

Lex nodded and sat before the bonfire. It mended his wounds, but he'd already forgotten about them. As much as he liked to make smart comments about why he'd become a cleric, he really did enjoy the simple pleasure of healing those in need. When his power had been too little at the Cathedral, one of the senior monks would take over for him. That wasn't an option here. He needed to think of a way himself; thinking too much was why the Goddess had Chosen him, wasn't it?

Of course, the Goddess! If the power of his faith wasn't enough, what about his intelligence? He drew the sorcery catalyst from his belt and rifled through the pockets of the tattered robe. In one of them was a damp and decaying scroll which was just barely legible. This was the sorcerous equivalent of his Deep Tears spell, the Goddess had said. The Sealers of New Londo had been sorcerer-healers in her holy name. Surely, he could learn something from one of the remnants of their knowledge.

Sorcery, the Soul Art, was the technique of manipulating raw soul energy, taught to humanity by the ancient White Dragon. As all things possessed souls, sorcery was a power which all creatures, living and dead, could wield. Only, it required a keen mind to understand the underlying principles. Magic swordsmen, especially in Vinheim, could learn certain techniques purely by rote, but to learn a variety of spells required a mind capable of understanding that the physical world was not immutable, a sort of minor blasphemy.

How convenient that Lex was already a heretic. The spell which unfolded before him was a far cry from the long-entrenched principles of Vinheim's illustrious Dragon School, which dictated the laws of sorcery to the rest of the world. It would have boggled a conventional sorcerer. How convenient that Lex was a cleric. To use the power of the gods, the faithful had to understand complex layers of allegory in the tales they recited. The more practical abstractions of sorcery came easily to the deacon.

In one hand, Lex held the catalyst and in the other, his talisman. He weaved the tin wand through the air, feeling the ambient soul energy respond to his gestures. Then, he poured his own energy into the rod and let the accumulation burst upon him. A wave of coolness like an autumn night rushed over him. Next, he raised his talisman and recited the miracle. As the healing flowed from the lock of the Goddess' hair, he compared the sensation.

One, then the other, he repeated until he felt he understood the difference. The effect was the same, but the method of creating it was different. The sorcery went through the arduous efforts of analyzing the body and searching for abnormalities before driving them out with precision application of soul energy. The miracle was far simpler – it "knew" the proper state of the body and simply washed away the contaminants. Yet, what if he combined the intelligent analysis with the holy cleansing?

Lex shrugged and tied the talisman to the catalyst's handle. The Sealers were an order dedicated to the Goddess, so tying her hair to the wand wasn't hair-esy, right? Ordinarily, splitting focus between casting two spells would be impossible. After all, miracles required a chant, and sorceries required precise focus. It wasn't possible to say two things at once or focus on two independent formulae. On the other hand, chanting something drilled into him for years while focusing on a similar formula was certainly doable.

The bonfire restored all injuries an undead could suffer in their wretched existence. Yet the old scars from the Cathedral, from years of self-discipline, had remained. As he unleashed the precisely-targeted holy power, any abnormality in his flesh was wiped clean. Not just the old lashing scars on his back, but any freckle or mole disappeared. He twitched as the effect ran through, the sensation like something tiny biting his flesh again and again.

"This is incredible," he gasped, looking himself over. "I could make a killing if I sold the secret to priestesses of Gwynevere. I mean, uh… No, I don't have an excuse for this one. I'm still thinking like a merchant. Now, what to call it? It kind of felt like something nibbling on me. What were those fish that ate stuff off other fish? Wrasse. So. Wrasse of the Gods?"

He rose from the bonfire at last and turned to face his patient. The witch's head was drooped, so he couldn't make out much of her face, but the spider's countless eyes were blind and glazed over like a hollow's. It was likely he could approach without difficulty, a far cry from his experience with Quelaag.

"Eingyi," said a voice like nails drawn over stone, "who is that I hear? A new servant?"

From the hall opposite the one Lex had come, Kirk of Thorns entered the chamber.

"You! Eingyi, what have you done?"

"Servant Kirk, what alarms you so?"

"This man is a priest of Berenike! He travels with the Embraced Knight and the fourth son of Flann!"

"Actually, they ditched me. Well, Domhnall left on his own, but then Lautrec ditched me. I am definitely a cleric of Berenike, though."

"Why you!" the worshiper cried. "You deceiver!"

"How many times do I have to say this? You didn't ask! You just asked if I was a servant and were going to let me in without proof anyway!"

"Quiet!" Kirk snapped. "You'll disturb the Fair Lady."

He gestured to the witch, who was looking about curiously with blind eyes.

"He's used the bonfire, hasn't he, Eingyi."

"He has."

"Yep."

"This becomes complicated, Eingyi. If he had not, I could simply kill him again and again at his bonfire until he had hollowed. I will not allow such violence before the Fair Lady. Were it anyone else, we could force him swear a covenant, but an oath means nothing to a servant of the one who binds oaths."

"You could let me go?"

"No. You know of this place. If you have not already – unwittingly or deliberately – informed your mistress, she will learn of it. That, I cannot allow."

Kirk approached Lex in spite of being at disadvantage. The knight was unarmed while Lex had his talisman at the ready. That hardly seemed to matter when Kirk was far more skilled in battle, and his armor was covered in lethal thorns.

"You know," Lex said, taking a step backward and glancing over his shoulder, "if I don't get back soon, the knights of Astora with me are going to come looking. Quelaag's still pretty beaten up from fighting me. I don't know if she can take them."

"A weak threat."

"I'm not threatening! I'm advising!"

"Quiet!"

"Look, I already rang the Bell. Our quest here is over. We're going to go find the Kingseeker, whoever that is. The Goddess has no need to know that I rang the Bell without killing anyone."

"Don't think I'm ignorant as those Astoran swine. She would see it in your soul."

"Wait, she can do that?"

"The blind learn to see through the Dark. It is how Our Fair Lady… the Fair Lady… She hasn't cried out, has she, Eingyi?"

"She has not."

Kirk's chuckle was like grinding blades.

"So that's her trick. Your wicked goddess is using you. It is as always. She acts from a distance and allows her servants to do as they please so long as they please her. I will warn you as I would have wished to warn an old friend: flee. She has Chosen you because you are innocent and can deceive others with that innocence."

Kirk paused. He started to reach for Lex, then thought better of it.

"I can't touch anything like this," the knight said, glancing sidelong at the witch. "Hold your left eye open for me."

Lex shrugged and did so.

"I thought as much. When did it change?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's purple. A rare color for certain, but the real shade is not nearly so vibrant. You've been tainted by her power. The more you use whatever she gave you, the more your body will change. Whatever Berenike is, she is no goddess. Men are bound to resemble the gods, and turning from them will change our shape to resemble our new masters. Mine is the shape of Chaos. I wonder what yours is."

"Wait, those times Quelaag called her a false-"

"I spoke the truth," the witch said, kicking Lex so he'd move out of the way of the passage. "My, Kirk, you've become quite talkative. Haunted by regret?"

"I have no regret. The Fire is not Linked. In spite of Berenike's schemes, she never found a stronger Champion. Better that the world end in Dark than that monster take the Flame."

Quelaag smirked and rolled her eyes.

"Deacon Lexion, was I not clear when I told you to ring the Bell and be on your way?"

"I wanted to see how you kept the demons out."

"That would be the sealed panel at the bottom of the tower. It has nothing to do with this passage which I had clearly hidden. You strain my hospitality, cleric."

"Hey, I had no idea what that awful floor was supposed to be."

"So you made like a thief into the inner chambers?"

"I was going to turn around, but then I got wrapped up in making a new curative spell. Do you still want me to cast it, or is it 'tainted' or something?"

Quelaag looked to Kirk and Eingyi. The cultist clasped his hands in petition.

"I tried to drive out the intruder, Mistress Quelaag. Yet when I sought to poison him, he shook it off as if it were nothing. My life's work! I thought maybe, he could alleviate the Fair Lady's suffering, even a little."

"Are you certain he did not eat the moss of Oolacile?"

"Absolutely, Mistress. He cast a miracle with that black talisman."

The witch stared at Lex.

"Cast it on me."

"Mistress Quelaag?" Eingyi yelped.

"You have watched the deacon cast the spell upon himself, no doubt. You shall watch to ensure he does not attempt to cast a different spell. Even if the good deacon's intentions are pure, I will not have some unknown magic cast upon my sister. We shall see what effect it has on me first. My own body is the only proxy we have for this purpose."

Eingyi grumbled nervously and stared at Lex hard enough to burn through him. Kirk merely crossed his arms and waited. The cleric nodded and raised his catalyst. He completed the chant and directed the ambient souls as he had before without issue. Yet when they fell upon Quelaag, something different happened. The deacon was more than used to such minor afflictions as the phantom bites. Between his self-flagellation and nights spent sleeping among insects in the tall Carim grass while his parents traveled the land, such a sensation was nothing.

Quelaag twitched and cringed, clutching and scratching at her body. She moaned in aggravation. Nothing she did would end the sensation of biting.

"You traitor!" Eingyi cried. "What have you done to Mistress Quelaag?"

Lex didn't hear him. He was silently thanking the goddess of weavers that his robes were so loose. Kirk, on the other hand, remained impassive.

" _Muinthel? Quelaag? Man raig?_ "

The sudden interruption by the ill witch caused Lex to jump.

Quelaag quickly replied, " _Munta, Nethig._ "

She straightened herself as much as she could and looked over her body. Like Lex, she wasn't poisoned, so there was no telling how effective it would be at purging an affliction. Yet at the same time, her skin had a healthier luster to it, as if she had just bathed.

"Was that really a cleansing spell, cleric? Swear it upon your name, Lexion of Carim."

"I swear it. I created the spell by combining the cleansing miracle of the Deep and the cleansing sorcery of New Londo. Double cleansing power. Yay."

"New Londo? The second Oolacile, was it? I am surprised it hasn't already fallen."

"It's underwater."

Quelaag clicked her tongue.

"I should not be surprised. So be it. I give you permission. Let us see if this combination of yours can prevail over the Blight. It will be enough to purge it from her body. If it returns to the swamp, so be it. These castoffs of the gods and pygmies alike do not deserve my sister's concern."

Eingyi wailed but quickly fell silent again when Quelaag glared at him. Kirk moved at last, looking up at the demon witch.

"You know you won't be able to stop her from eating the Blight again."

"Then the deacon will cure her again, and I will cast that seven-times-damned poison into the ruins of Izalith!"

The Thorn Knight grunted and turned to kneel before the other witch. Without hesitation, he drew a small knife and jabbed it into the elbow joint of his armor. After a moment, blood began to pool from the deep wound, and he raised it to the pale witch.

"You'll need strength for this."

Trembling, the sick demon reached forward carefully. Once she had found Kirk's arm, she dipped her head into its crook, avoiding the thorns. A long tongue, like the proboscis of a mosquito, rolled out of her mouth. She lapped up the blood quickly, and the knight withdrew his arm.

" _Hanta,_ Kirk," she said quietly, trembling a little less.

"Mind telling that story, Quelaag?" Lex said quietly. "Isn't the Thorn Knight a Darkwraith?"

"He is. A wretched pygmy who uses the Red Eye to attack others of your kind and drain them of their very humanity. Only, have you not noticed? Flame is fueled by the Dark. Kirk kills foolish, greedy adventurers like yourself – the dregs of society – to extend my sister's life. That is the task of all the loyal Servants of Chaos."

"And he understands the demon tongue?"

"Demon tongue? We have no tongue. As I have said, we are not one people. My sister speaks the ancient words of the gods. As it was necessary for one of my position to learn the lesser words of the pygmies, I may speak with you freely, but she has had no such training."

"Wait, but we're speaking Anor-tongue! The gods gave us this language!"

"There were dozens of pygmy tongues. Anor Londo produced a standardized version for your people when they were bound in the Ringed City. Or did you think 'Anor Londo' was poetic gibberish in the gods' own language?"

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"I have treated you more than fairly, deacon. My sister has fed and recovered a portion of her strength. Attempt your healing before I have Kirk drown you in the swamp for irony's sake."

Lex's stomach churned at the idea, so he joined the Thorn Knight in front of the sick demon whose name he still hadn't learned. After a moment's mental preparation, he conjured the phantom biting. Again, the reaction was different.

" _Kitya!_ " the witch eked out between giggles.

Quelaag let out a silent sigh, but then her face darkened. The other demon seemed to find some relief in the magic, but as the effect ran on, shadows formed in the air around her. The faint forms of fish passed over the witch, growing darker as they fed off the poison and disease.

"What in…?" Lex started, unsure where to start.

"I should have known," Quelaag said, watching carefully. "Sorceries are unthinking formulae that produce the same results for the same inputs. Miracles use belief to enforce a certain version of reality. To combine the two is to create a fluid reality which changes of its own volition. In the hands of a human, such ritual could only create Dark. I believe you were mistaken, Kirk. _This_ may be the reason the false god Chose Lexion. Deacon, where for what purpose did you learn a sorcery?"

"The Goddess, uh, gave me the scroll. And the catalyst."

"Oh, of course she did!"

The shadow-fish turned at this outburst, leering at Quelaag with glowing white pinpricks for eyes. They dove, and with a ripple in the air, vanished.

"Did it work?" Lex asked.

"That doesn't inspire confidence, cleric."

She waved the two men out of the way and approached the other demon. She took the ill witch's praying hands in her own.

" _Nethig, manen naeg?_ "

" _Orthad. Arca, hanto i firion._ "

Quelaag kissed her sister's hands, then released them to turn back to the rest of the group.

"She grows stronger… and offers her thanks. If Beryf has become active in Lordran again, even this wretched place is safe no longer. It is as Lexion said to me – more undead will come. Kirk and the other Servants can only hunt so many, and those oft-mentioned knights of Astora slipped past them all. The deacon has given us an opportunity – we need to move as soon as my sister is able. Eingyi, tell your fellows to prepare for the journey."

"Where will be go, Mistress?"

"Do not question my orders, worm!"

The cultist began dragging himself across the floor as quickly as he could.

"Kirk, gather the Servants."

The Knight of Thorns pounded his chest in salute and turned back into the passages of the fort.

"Lexion, if you wish to help your fellow men so much as you have intimated, fetch those knights."

"I think I have to agree with egg-man. What are we doing? Isn't your sister a Fire Keeper? I thought Angry said that she-"

"We don't need a bonfire if we have a Kiln. Ready yourself, cleric. We go demon-hunting."


	17. Road to Hell

"So, long story short, we're going to hell."

Oscar crossed his arms.

"Explain this to me, Lex. Why are you just accepting the word of a demon? You should know better than we that there are times when they take fair form to seduce men of virtue."

"I wasn't seduced!" the deacon said defensively.

He hadn't mentioned the incident with the flowers. Still, he fidgeted too much when talking about the witch for him to seem anything but attracted to her.

"Oh, come now, Oscar!" Solaire interrupted. "There is no reason to think any less of the prophet! Have you never held an inappropriate crush?"

The other knight fell silent.

"Did I hit a sore spot?"

"It's… nothing, Captain."

"If you insist. Now Lex, are you certain that you have not been deceived?"

The cleric thought for a moment, then nodded.

"She had no reason to lie. And her anger was too real. I don't think anyone would spend all this time in hiding just to work on their acting skills."

"Then that is enough for me!" Solaire said, rising triumphantly. "I hate to delay our Fate now that the Bell has been rung, but what sort of adherent of the Sun would I be if I let innocents suffer? Even if those innocents are demons."

"Cap- Solaire," Oscar said. "I know your cul- faith values helping one's fellows above all else, but demons are not your fellows. You serve the onetime God of War. The demons are the enemies of the gods, and of the humans who serve them.

Let's assume that demon told Lex the truth. We'll believe that other demon – the Firesage, right? – was the one who sent the demons to the Undead Burg. And that helping this 'Quelaag' will put an end to it. Then we've just enthroned a new demon queen.

You always try to see the bright side of things, Solaire. I respect you for that. But we have to be realistic. As long as those two oppose one another, we risk a handful of demons escaping. If the demons are united…?"

Lex swallowed. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Isn't this an opportunity, Oscar?" Solaire said in the cleric's place. "If we unite the demons under a civilized ruler, wouldn't that control their rampages?"

"No, Solaire. Imagine. Imagine what they could do if they didn't act like lone bandits. One demon is worth how many armed men? Imagine if they formed ranks."

"How can you judge Quelaag without having met her?"

"She's a demon! I shouldn't have to explain this!"

"You know the gods are not always just. Who is to say that demons are always evil?"

"The Thorn Knight, a notorious Darkwraith, is working for her!"

Solaire sobered.

"Knight Kirk's deeds are unforgivable, but you can understand them, can't you? A never-ending quest in search of humanity to aid his lady? I have heard of few so knightly."

"The most chivalrous of sadistic murderers, surely."

The Warrior of Sunlight sighed and held out his hand.

"Oscar, I will not ask you to change your mind on this. I only ask you to fight with us, with your friends. And if things go as poorly as you fear, then I will fight with you then in turn."

Oscar stood. After a moment, he took Solaire's hand and clasped it firmly. The knights shook hands and embraced, then saluted.

"I will fight any battle you need, Captain. This is a terrible idea, but I won't refuse if it's you asking. Alright, Lex. Let's meet your demon and her thralls."

The cleric nodded and started to lead them back out into the swamp. Only, it was hardly the abandoned place it had been when he'd walked back to meet the knights. Crawling down the walls and through the sludge were horrid abominations with hearts of glimmering fire. They they crept silently on eight mismatched legs. When obstacles blocked their paths, they dragged themselves on long, spindly arms. These arms had long, grasping fingers, and the arms themselves split and then fused again in a grotesque melding of flesh only Chaos could cause.

A dripping tail dragged limply from the backs of the creatures, and four glinting insect wings buzzed on their backs to help lift their lumpen bodies. The eyes and mandibles of spiders skimmed low to the muck, but as the trio emerged, something else turned to look at them. An organ shaped uncannily like a human head rose from above the segmented eyes and turned to look at them with countless weeping sores.

"Oh boy," Lex said, breathing heavily. "I'm glad I'm already so traumatized that I can't puke anymore."

"Last chance to walk away, Lex," Oscar said.

The cleric shook his head.

"Let us hurry," Solaire said, pointing ahead with his sword. "We should not keep our allies waiting!"

Oscar grumbled at the "allies," but all three mushed through the swamp as fast as they could. Lex ensured the poison never built up too strongly in their bodies while they walked, but he was cautious to only use his miracle. He respected the knights but wasn't about to reveal he was even more of a heretic than they already knew. As the three approached the spider's lair, the bloated hollows of Blighttown knelt in respect.

"Frrr th pncssss…"

The crawling abominations paused their swarming to let the trio pass, though Oscar watched them suspiciously. The knight hesitated down the slide and grumbled in disgust when he saw the egg-infested worshipers, who had relocated to the wide-open yard before the belfry. Even now, the cultists were slowly dragging themselves forward, making slow and agonizing progress under their burdens.

"This is what we're fighting for…?" Oscar whispered.

Even Solaire winced, but they continued on. The holy knight admired the Bell as they passed it, but they didn't pause before hurrying down the winding stair. Quelaag was in the chamber at the bottom, giving orders to the Thorn Knight and a collection of unsavory-looking characters wearing mismatched armor and clothing from the past thousand years. Chaos afflicted the undead as vine-like or insectile growths. Even the ones who hid their deformity had a look of madness in their eyes or a nervous trembling.

"Good. You did not renege on your word. What a pleasant surprise for a cleric," the demon said, turning around. "You two are the knights of Astora, I see. Beautiful threadwork on your tabard, sir nobleman. You must forgive me if I do not know the meaning of the crests; I have no Astorans in my collection, you see."

She gave a flourish with her sword and bowed.

"I am _Quelaag Rochim_ , Master of the Horse for the Witches' Kingdom of Izalith, Daughter of Chaos. I do assure you that we march against an usurper with no claim and that you will be given appropriate honors and rewards once the Kingdom is restored to my rightful rule."

"Of course," Oscar said with some resignation. "I am Knight Oscar of Astora, the presumptive Count de Collunaires."

Solaire returned the bow.

"It is a pleasure to meet you and to fight alongside one so decorated!" Solaire said. "I am Solaire of Astora, a knight of humble origin and adherent of the Lord of Sunlight!"

"So I had surmised," Quelaag said, looking at the crudely-painted sun on his tabard. "Tell me, what do you know of your patron, the second Lord of Sunlight?"

"Very little, I am afraid. The Way of White has destroyed most records of his deeds. Still, I know all I need. I know that he was strong of arm and strong of heart. The sort of god who would fight for the innocent. Such a god should never be forgotten."

"Then fight well, Solaire of Astora. I have been in hiding so long that I cannot say for what reason he was deposed. Yet I knew him well, for his 'strong heart' was the inquisitive heart of a witch. The gods do not often ride beasts, for there are few which can bear their great size. In spite of this, your Lord requested I teach him the ways of cavalry. If we survive the battle to come, I shall tell you of his embarrassments in learning so that they might be restored to the annals of history."

"It would be an honor!" Solaire blurted out, unsure of what else to say.

"Solaire," Oscar whispered. "This too is seduction."

The Warrior of Sunlight sighed and nodded.

"I regret," Quelaag continued, "that we will not be able to play to my strengths in this ambush. Few are the demons suitable for riding. Worse still, the terrain of the city is hardly suitable for a charge. Our beautiful, airy halls are now so fine a deathtrap. Be ever cautious of your footing once we descend; the roots may trip you to a perilous fall."

"Understood," Oscar said quickly. "What is our plan of attack? The three of us have no knowledge of Izalith. Will you guide us, or will we join the ranks of your servants for the battle? What's more, we know nothing of the foeman, save that he is some sort of demon priest. What of his servants… or other enemies?"

"My, what a thorough series of questions. I appreciate your caution. Should you ever wish the strength of a demon, I would welcome you as a captain of my corps."

"I refuse."

"It was merely an offer. Fear not; I will not force the issue out of consideration for your volunteering. To answer you – we must strive to keep the battle contained within the halls of the checkpoint fortress. Should we be exposed to the open ruins of Izalith, we would be overwhelmed by the demon hordes. So long as we are indoors, we will be able to hold them in the passages.

To this end, Kirk and the other Servants will endeavor to block reinforcements. So long as they are successful, our only foe should be the Firesage, the demons' high priest and ruler. He may have attendants or lesser servants, but they will be only a trifle. He would not let greater demons attend him for fear of the treachery common to demons which were once human.

Your role will be brief but pivotal. So attuned to Chaos the Firesage is, he will smell us coming. Myself especially he could not miss, for my entry into the lower chambers will break the stalemate betwixt the borders of our souls, which had blocked his escape through this tower. I warn you that he may yet still detect you, but he will not expect me to ally with undead not bound as a Servant. Your aim is to observe my battle and ambush him when given opportunity.

I will strive to strike him down with a lethal blow in the opening you cause. If I should fail, we must retreat at once. The Firesage is at once sorcerer and priest – and yet still has the brute strength to crush stone. If we do not strike him down immediately, his counterattack could very well destroy us all. Further, my own life is to be prioritized. You undead may return time and again, but if I am slain, that is the end of me and of my ability to hold back the Firesage's petty designs for conquest.

Are we clear?"

Oscar grumbled faintly, then said, "Understood."

"May the Lord of Sunlight shine on our mission!"

"I would say a prayer," Lex added, "but you'd probably stab me, and now's not the time for that."

Oscar slightly turned his helmet to the cleric but said nothing. Quelaag scowled, then faced the Servants.

"Kirk!"

There was a faint feeling like a rush of cool air, and wisps of fog drifted up from the engraved panel in the center of the room. The Thorn Knight and his gang of misfits stepped onto the platform, and Kirk's foot pressed on the raised center. It depressed, and scarlet fire rose from the vents, oozing heretical runes that lingered on the eyelids. The platform rumbled, then sank into the floor with a humming sound.

"Incredible!" Lex said, watching as the Servants descended into the tunnels below. "How does it work? I don't see any mechanism."

"Such is the majesty of Chaos," Quelaag said with a smirk. "This was but a trivial device before we were undone. The technique even reached as far as your Ringed City, though we helped but little in its construction. Yet this is no time to appreciate the works of lost Izalith. Your mind should be on the battle to come."

As Lex nodded, another platform like the one which had led the Servants away rose into the hole.

"Now for the moment where our alliance is first tested. My body is so large that I must ride the elevator alone. The instant I cross this threshold, the Firesage will know for certain he is under attack. There are two options before us. The first is that you must go first and trust that I am not trapping undead too strong for me to defeat. Else I must go first and trust that you will not abandon the battle."

"I see," Oscar said.

"Why there must be trial of trust?" Solaire said, shaking his head vehemently. "A Warrior of Sunlight would never abandon a companion!"

"Relax," Lex barked. "Quelaag, you're being dramatic. Oscar, Solaire, go ahead and go down. See if you can't find a good ambush spot beforehand. I'll go down with Quelaag."

"First the Pardoner and now a demon," Oscar said. "You make interesting friends."

"Oh, don't be so sour, Oscar," Solaire said, patting him on the shoulder. "If we're lucky, we might get extra Sunlight Medals for aiding an acquaintance of the Lord of Sunlight."

"Sunlight Medals?"

"Oh, that's right! You've never summoned before! In Lordran, the flow of time itself is convoluted…"

Solaire began explaining the notion of phantoms, both helpful like he tried to be or wicked like the Thorn Knight. The pair activated the descending platform and vanished from sight while the holy knight was waving his arms wildly and shouting something about "jolly cooperation." Cleric and demon were left alone.

"Tell me honestly, holy man. Was that a selfless means of resolving the conflict, or do you intend on making another pass at me?"

"Actually, I got rid of them because I was curious about the Ringed City, but if you're offering-"

"You are positively dreadful," Quelaag chuckled. "I will tell you whatever you wish of me once we have the luxury of time. The Servants are in greater danger every minute. Much of their Chaos-granted power is restricted in such combats. Truthfully, few demons are resistant to fire. Yet most know or instinctively understand that maintaining melee pressure prevents all but the fastest of magics. Pyromancy is by far faster than the other arts, but casting remains an unnecessary moment of risk."

"Fair enough. You saw me flounder my attack miracle."

"All the more reason for ambush. Let us proceed."

The next platform had arrived, and the demon stepped on, her enormous spider body spilling over the sides. Only the strong climbing grip of her legs kept her in place. Lex awkwardly squeezed on beside the spider's head. It snarled at him, as he was in the same blind spot where he had attacked before. The witch pat the monster gently and shushed it as they descended.

Once the pair had cleared the initial chute, the platform entered a cozy cavern which held a crossroads below. Each path was a descending stairway leading into lightless tunnels. It was treacherously dark on the crumbling roads, and the nearest glimmer of light was the armor of the two knights reflecting the glow from above.

Three of the paths led into the cave walls, but the fourth led down a road toward the faint glow of lava. On either side, it was supported by square pillars engraved with reliefs of rising vines. More clearly seen here than in the tower above, the architecture of Izalith stood out as peculiar. The works of the gods were beautiful and functional; the demons built things to be functional and then made them beautiful.

The gods would round large stones and cement them together into cylinders, then stack those pieces and again apply mortar to make elegant columns. The demons instead carved solid blocks of stone and stacked them together, emphasizing the segements rather than hiding them. Reliefs would be carved on individual blocks, leaving a layered collection of decoration. All human architecture imitated the gods', with regional variation, so this more direct style was new and striking.

The cleric's eyes wandered, squinting in the dark. He focused on his left eye as much as he dared, and the shadows peeled away. All the stone was limned in a phantasmal, foggy white as his eye pierced the darkness. Square pillars with rounded edges and domed caps lined the sides of the paths. Beyond the paths' edges were freestanding markers of some sort.

The uppermost block had a number of dancing and praying half-beast figures engraved along the sides. Over them ran a tall, pointed arch and a relief of a stern-faced bearded man bearing a holy talisman and a lion-headed man bearing a scroll of sorcery.

"Is this what a witch is?" Lex asked quietly so that the knights below couldn't hear. He pointed to one of the reliefs for emphasis as he continued, "Combining miracles and soul sorcery? I had wondered exactly how the queen of the gods came to be called one."

"Hm," Quelaag murmured. "It is not quite so simple. To be a witch is to rely upon instinct and feeling over faith or learning. If either of those offer a path forward, it will be taken without prejudice. A witch is not bound to either path; she is iconoclast. She may balance the two or walk the hidden paths betwixt. Only, to do so risks unearthing the cursed secrets of the Dark – especially for you humans."

"I see. Are- are there male witches? Am I a witch?"

"A warlock. A hexer in either case, a worker of Dark. The art itself is of animal nature and _does_ distinguish the sexes. There are some techniques I could never teach you and others I could never learn. It is a tragedy so many of the male secrets will die with the Firesage, but we could never risk keeping him alive."

Lex nodded and let the conversation die as the elevator came flush with the crossroads. Above the four pedestals surrounding the platform floated four statues depicting a familiar monster. They were a caricature, two thirds of the body merely belly, but they depicted the obese demons which had devoured pilgrims in the Undead Asylum. The statues' hands were lain across their completely round middles, and they had no legs at all. Their heads were tilted backward as if in awe, mouths gaping open. In spite of the heavy stone which comprised them, they slowly bobbed back and forth in the air as if floating along a gentle stream.

"You two see anything while you were waiting?" Lex said as he stepped off the platform.

"Not much," Oscar said, shaking his head. "The path leading outside seems sabotaged. As close to the edge as we risked, we did hear heavy footsteps. The Firesage may be directly beneath us."

"The stair blocked the brute's way," Quelaag said. "Ordinarily, one would have passed from the outer town through these crossroads. The Firesage has no need to reach these upper passages, so he must have destroyed the path to more easily reach the exit. Not that the fool will ever break Lord Gwyn's soul fog which keeps him trapped."

"Let me guess-" Lex said, "-one of those fatasses with giant stone clubs?"

"You've… encountered a draco demon before? One of the lesser firesages?"

"Yeah, we killed it. It was blocking the Pilgrims' Road into Lordran."

"Incredible! Apply the same strategy here, and you should do just fine. Now, let us hurry."

"Wait, what do you mean by 'draco demon'?"

"We don't have time-!" Quelaag started but thought better of it. "The humans became demons akin to beasts of the field, which is why they act without thought now that they've lost control. Many of the gods of Izalith still envied the power of the dragons. They developed means to become imperfect simulacra of such. No doubt it is that undying nature which has helped preserve the Firesage this long. There: an explanation! Now hurry!

The stairs that way lead to the chamber below. The statues will likely attack you – they are enchanted with rudimentary life and can breathe fire. I will descend directly from the broken path. You are free to watch the opening exchange to ensure I uphold my end of the bargain."

Quelaag headed one way and Solaire the other, but Lex just looked at Oscar.

"Like last time?"

"Attack from above? The opportunity _has_ presented itself. Solaire, this way!"

"Oscar, I know you dislike working alongside a demon, but Quelaag has given us no reason to distrust her yet."

"That's not it. We're going to drop atop the Firesage's head once Quelaag draws it out."

"Oh! Well, that is something quite different. Lex, would you choose our battlecry? It's easy enough to simply praise the Sun, but perhaps you know something which would better strike fear into a demon."

"Hm. Maybe something about Black Knight Lino…"

"Wait!" Oscar said suddenly. "Forget the battlecry! Neither of us told Quelaag to lure the Firesage beneath the ledge!"


	18. Drink the Blood of the Priest

The three men immediately turned to run after the demon. Yet in the dark, they could only move so fast without stumbling. To trip and roll down the stairs would be an embarrassing death before the battle even started. Unfortunately, the caution meant they had no chance of catching Quelaag, sure of her footing with eight grasping legs. She leapt off the break in the road long before they were could catch her, and shouting would only put the Firesage on guard against unseen enemies.

"No good," Oscar said, skidding to a stop and starting to turn the other way. "Let's double back and descend the stairs as planned."

"Hold on," Lex panted. "Let's face it. I wasn't any use last time. I'll jump down first and tell Quelaag."

"Lex, you'll die if you jump from here without a monster to land on. Break your legs and live if you're unlucky."

"No, there are roots over there," Lex said, pointing to shadows in the darkness beyond the path. "I'll make a running jump."

"So you'll hurt yourself like when you jumped onto that roof."

"Maybe."

Oscar sighed. Solaire raised a hand to his visor as if to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"Is there no easier way?" the holy knight asked as he strained to see. "Perhaps a miracle? What gifts does Lady Berenike offer?"

"They're more… esoteric," Lex said.

Fortunately, an impact from below boomed before he could fumble for an explanation.

"We've got to hurry!"

They raced to the end of the path, the last steps crumbling and uneven from tremendous brute force. Oscar edged ahead of the other two at the last stretch and turned back before squatting.

"Lex, just like before!"

The cleric ran straight for Oscar's cupped hands, and the knight catapulted him into the brimstone-filled air. Lex hit the stone root with a sickening thud and nearly slipped to the floor below before he recovered his senses and squeezed his arms around it with all his might. Fortunately, it was sloped outward, and he could simply scoot himself down to ground level.

More lifeless roots of a stone archtree infested the rest of the long chamber. There was a central road of long-broken stone, but between it and the carved walls were measured spans of open earth. The roots had been meant to pass through the chamber, it seemed, but now they dug through and passed across the road uncontrolled. Unlike the crossroads above, this room was brightly lit between the two demons fighting in its center.

The Firesage was indeed the same type of demon as had been hidden beneath the Undead Asylum and the one which blocked its exit. It had the same wide, reptilian gait; the same bony protuberances; the same crown of gnarled root-horns; the same pitiful wings; the same exposed teeth and beady eyes. Yet it was completely different.

The other demons had clear intelligence in their eyes and relished in the fear they caused. In the eyes of the Firesage was Fire. Its stone body cracked and belched the scarlet flames of Chaos, tracing its shape through the dark chamber. In place of the prior demon's carved stone club, the Firesage held a voulge of cracked and chipped volcanic glass, the blade alone long and thick as one of its own legs.

It was only now that Lex fully appreciated how large Quelaag's body was. In spite of the obesity and sheer scale of the Firesage, the demon spider was still larger, even without counting the legs. In this room overfull of vines, Quelaag barely had room to evade. Her impressive leaping ability was completely blocked by the low ceiling, and the Firesage held the advantage of reach with his voulge. In spite of the enormous difference in strength, Quelaag deftly deflected each stroke of the polearm with her saber. Still, the spined chitin blade was more suited to rending flesh than parrying a weapon which could cleave stone.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size!" Lex shouted. "Wait, you're already doing that."

The lipless, taut face of the Firesage couldn't smile, but his beady eyes glimmered.

"Mmm! You brought fresh meat, _ungolbîn_? Hmph! So this was your plan!"

The fat demon took his polearm flat in both hands and shoved it forward as a bar, forcing Quelaag back. He took a step, then another, quickly pushing the weaker demon across the room with sheer bulk. The spider might have been able to press back, but Quelaag's main body simply lacked the mass to resist. The witch hazarded a glance over her shoulder.

"Fool! What could you possibly think you could do by challenging the Firesage directly?"

"Hey, I thought we were supposed to trust each other."

The Firesage was building speed now, and the spider's legs worked frantically to scrabble around the vines blocking the road.

"Ohohoho! Is that a crow mask I spy? Is that a raven mask I spy? _Corch! Craban! Queliel_ , you are desperate to ally with the _Morivelca_ who destroyed your kin! _Corch! Craban! Morithron!_ "

The Firesage's booming voice was harsh, and words slurred strangely between inhuman tongue and missing lips. Yet somehow, it was strangely magnetic. Lex felt a foreign urge to befriend the demon.

" _Morithron!_ Black sage! Warlock! I can smell you! I can smell the Dark thick and strong in your blood! Let us speak as brother-sages! Let us speak without this witch of a dead age!"

The Firesage leaned back and rolled on his enormous hips, swinging his voulge wide with one hand. The glassy blade shaved through the wall and all the roots in its way before colliding directly with Quelaag's saber. Roots had closed off her retreat, and there was no way to simply deflect the wild swing. The blow sent her tumbling backward, nearly crushing her witch body beneath the spider demon.

" _Corch! Morithron!_ Be not afraid! We are kin in spirit! I am _Narithron_ , Firesage! I serve the Mother of Demons as you serve the Mother of Gods! Pay no mind to the stories of the bitter witch, little _ungol_! There is naught which can be learned without sacrifice! She is merely wrathful that the price was steep indeed! The age of the Old Witch is ended! Come, listen to the new wisdom! Listen with the ears of a child to the teachings of the Nursery of Chaos and Mother of Demons!"

"Your 'wisdom' is madness," Quelaag spat, rising unsteadily.

"We are all mad! We must unlearn the false truths and reclaim our childish hearts! _Morithron_ , your queen led us to this revelation! Had the Old Witch succeeded in her rite, what would we have had? A new Fire for a world which desires Dark! It is better she failed! If fools wish not Fire, let the strong and wise keep it!

The Age of Dark will fall upon the weak, but demons will live in Chaos everlasting! The Lord of Sunlight's tricks are unneeded! Foolish _Balan!_ Men will not accept gifts given unbidden! Only those who seek Flame with childish heart will receive it! Only the strong and wise will keep it!"

The Firesage waved his voulge over his head like a wand, and a sphere of roiling Chaos flame appeared in the air like a miniature sun. It cast off flares which formed into tiny sprites like burning humanity. They stared at Quelaag with blank eyes and hurtled toward her with abandon. Rising to her feet once more, the witch swiped them away with a stroke of her sword.

"I see!" the Firesage laughed. "Fire! There is too much Fire in a Daughter of Chaos, _Queliel_! No matter! Some of the old wisdom remains! The strong rule, and there is none stronger than a demon with the flesh of dragons! Come, _ungolbîn_! Come, little crawling thing! Behold the difference in strength between dragon and spider!"

Quelaag held her ground, but Lex continued forward, stepping into the stretch between her and the Firesage. He curled one hand backward and pointed up, hoping that the witch noticed.

"Enough of the Chaos witch, _Narithron_. What do you have in mind for me? I'm sure we can come to an agreement my mistress would approve."

"Just like a cleric!" Quelaag snarled.

She slashed him across the back and quickly retreated, her spider vomiting lava to cover her tracks.

"Devour her!" Lex shouted, waving his catalyst.

Faint shadows whisked through the air, and Quelaag winced as if bitten several times, stepping further back. The Firesage let out a deep laugh from the depths of his tremendous belly.

"Oh! Very good! Very good! You already command the hungry Dark! Well done, _craban_! As expected of a _morithron_! I will send you back to your queen fat with knowledge!"

The Firesage closed on the cornered witch. There was hardly any room for her to retreat, a burning gold soul fog blocking the way out of the ruins.

"So end the _Quelithryn_. The weak are consumed and forgotten. Already, the humans have forgotten your names. They know only demons. They will never forget us."

He raised his voulge and prepared to swing the finishing blow, flame belching from cracks in his flesh as he wound up.

"May the sun shine even on Izalith!"

Eye-ruining yellow light erupted into the dimly-lit chamber and reflected off the smooth stone. Solaire drove a Great Lightning Spear directly into the Firesage's head, between his tremendous horns. As the demon staggered under the ruinous blow, Oscar drove his holy sword into its stone back.

" _Amferain_ …" the Firesage wheezed.

The polearm dropped to the ground to support the stumbling monster's weight. With a draconic roar, the Firesage reared up and unleashed a deep red shockwave like Quelaag had done before. Both knights were blown through the air and tumbled across the stone road before Lex.

"Dragonslayers… I thought your kind dead. I will end two lineages of the old wisdom today! _Craban_! _Morithron_! Hold them at bay while I recover my vitality!"

The Firesage plowed through the stone roots and set foot on the open earth. Lex had hardly noticed in his rush to help Quelaag, but there were some sort of regular grooves in the wall aligned with the earthen trenches. All around the grooves were a relief of grasping vines or roots, but he couldn't make out what was special about them. The prophet strained his left eye through the dark. The Firesage's soul lit up the room, powerful but nowhere near the raging inferno of Quelaag's. It was what Lex saw behind the Firesage that made him gasp.

Each of the countless inlets in the wall held a mummified human, bound up in Chaos roots. They were still alive, in a sense, and he could see their souls quivering as if breathing slowly. The Firesage dug his claws into one, and Lex watched in horror as the souls were sucked out. The Firesage almost seemed to grin as he turned to face Quelaag.

"Dodge!" Lex screamed.

The witch was unprepared for the attack. The Firesage simply thrust his palm forward, and another deep red shockwave rushed out in front of him. Quelaag was blasted back as the monster laughed. She rolled limply on the stone road, seemingly unconscious. With utter confidence, the demon priest turned to face Lex, pointing with his voulge.

"Oh, _corch_? So you _were_ intending to help the _ungolbîn_. Your queen leaves you free to make your own mistakes. Such is the way of a good mother. Such is the way of the Mother of Demons. I do not blame you for choosing poorly. The _Quelithryn_ are beautiful and seductive according to the old wisdom, and I, hideous and frightening. Welcome the new wisdom into your heart. Learn that strength is beauty."

By now, Solaire and Oscar had risen and were cautiously approaching the demon.

" _Amferain,_ abandon this foolishness. The order of _Gwân Balan_ crumbles like the ashen bodies of his Black Knights. You fight for a dead god's dead cause. Learn the new wisdom of your queen."

"Lord Gwyn may be gone, but-!" Solaire started. "Our queen?"

"I was wondering why the Pardoner was so friendly," Oscar said. "Solaire, the names of the gods are sometimes different in distant lands. Would a priest of Gwyn's queen abandon her for Velka? Why did the Pardoner seem so natural in a temple of Berenike? Lex? Didn't the demon call you a black sage? I definitely heard 'mori-Velka.'"

Solaire glanced over his shoulder, but Oscar didn't let his eyes leave the demon.

"Oh boy, you heard that. I can explain, but this might not be the best time."

"Just make sure you do."

" _Amferain_ , you would make fine demons. I can teach you ways of fire which do not pale before Gwyn's lightning."

The demon gestured with his voulge as if lighting candles. With each stroke, he pinned a flame to the air.

"Come, let us be rid of this witch of the old ways. Come, let us celebrate communion between the mother of gods and Mother of Demons."

"Sir Firesage," Solaire said, "you seem a reasonable fellow. Does this need to end in death? We had believed there was no option but to fight. Surely, we could work something out."

"You do not understand _amferain_ , dragonslayer. The _Quelithryn_ would enforce Fire upon men like the _Belain._ It should be a thing earned by the strong and wise. We could never live in peace. Make your choice, _amferain, morithron_! Will you side with the true and strong, or will you side with the old ways your queen destroyed?"

As he spoke, the Firesage subtly waved his catalyst. It seemed to simply be a gesture, but Lex's left eye caught the trick. A glimmering pink orb formed in the voulge's wake. The instant it formed, the Firesage's words seemed more reasonable. The prophet smirked.

"You know, _Narithron_ , as we made our way down here, I asked Quelaag what it meant to be a witch. You've talked an awful lot about the old ways Goddess Berenike sought to destroy and how your new ways are better. Now, Quelaag had said that a proper witch didn't care what means were used to reach her objective. In light of that discussion, I have a question for you now."

"Speak, brother sage."

"Are you an idiot?"

"What?!"

"The Raven-Haired Witch Velka is versed in arts both new and old! She would have broken the old to make way for the new but would would not deprive herself of the old ways!"

The Firesage chuckled.

"Well-spoken, _morithron_! I look forward to seeing you again after I've killed you for your foolishness!"

"Solaire, Oscar, brace yourselves!"

The Firesage swiped with his voulge, unleashing a pulse of energy as Lex began to pray.

 _The Rock marched beside Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight_  
 _Drakes aflight, fire on wind_  
 _Seath the traitor, magics bend_  
 _Even the Dark, to the end_

Holy light flashed, and shimmering fields of white force enveloped the bodies of the three humans just as the blast washed over them. They winced but were largely unharmed.

"A Magic Barrier!" Solaire said. "This will be a great help."

"Why didn't you use this when we were dealing with that sorcerer?" Oscar growled.

"I didn't expect to find anything but hollows, so I didn't prepare it. I brought it this time to protect against fire, but magic shockwaves are fine too, right?"

Oscar grunted and ran at the Firesage while Solaire drew back a lightning spear. As Oscar approached, the floating points of light above the demon became flaming missiles that dove straight for him. The knight dove to the floor, skipping over the road's lip and rolling over the soft earth. The fireballs shot right over him, and he was left to face the monster's enormous polearm. The demon's swing was interrupted by lightning, and Oscar's holy blade cut across the Firesage's enormous gut.

While the knights fought, Lex sprinted toward Quelaag. The spider's lidless eyes reflected him blankly, while the witch lay slumped over its back. The cleric awkwardly used the spider's legs to climb beside the unconscious witch and invoked his healing miracle. He looked around as he shook her arm to wake her, trying not to stare at her exposed breasts.

The crash of the Firesage stumbling into the wall after a lightning strike caused her to stir at last. After a moment, she jumped, sword raised defensively. Her elbow bashed Lex in the face and nearly knocked him to the floor.

"Okay, I probably deserved that."

A few seconds passed, and Quelaag realized she wasn't in immediate danger. A second more, and she finally acknowledged the cleric.

"This is far too dangerous. I'm of half a mind to sound the retreat. I did not think carefully enough – there is no way for you to evacuate my body in case of injury."

"I guess I should have prepared Homeward."

"Yes, that would have been ideal. I should have told you to do so. I overestimated our ability to kill the Firesage quickly."

"Solaire and Oscar look like they have a handle on it."

Lex pointed at the fight. The Firesage took a wide swing with his voulge to drive Oscar away and then hurried to the nearest mummified body. The demon drove his hand into it and absorbed its vitality, the Chaos flames running through his stone flesh rekindling.

"Okay, nevermind."

"Flame is itself hungry, but Chaos all the more so. We have no chance of victory while the Firesage can feed and replenish himself."

"Is there no way we can stop him? I might have a Lloyd's talisman. Somewhere. If we're lucky."

"Luck, hm? Perhaps something like that. I said we would need to slay the Firesage quickly. Your knights are strong, but they lack the impact we need now that the ambush has failed. You see that, don't you? If I were to so crudely devour the humanity of my people as he is, we might stand a chance. I have no desire to be such a beast, however. Do understand what I mean?"

"I… think?"

"Clerics are generous by profession, are they not? They teach the self-sacrifice of Gwyn and stand as shining examples of such?"

"They're supposed to."

"Good. Well, would you be willing to make a sacrifice now? You saw how Kirk offered his blood to my sister before? Blood is a medium which bears the energies of life and soul. Would you allow me drain your blood and humanity? I shall make it painless as I am able."

Lex inhaled sharply.

"Oh, no. No."

"Well, I am afraid we have no-"

"No, that's-! I mean-! I meant 'no' as in there's no need to hold back. Even if it's painful. Definitely not a problem. We- uh, we- uh train for exactly this sort of thing at the Cathedral. Drain away!"

"Then I shall take your blood most directly. Brace yourself."

Quelaag handed her sword to the spider, who wrapped its tongue about the handle. The witch's long fingers and razor nails reached about the cleric's left shoulder as he squirmed. She pulled away the crimson robes and untied the strings holding the torn leather armor, exposing Lex's bare shoulder and collarbone. A long tongue cascaded out of Quelaag's mouth, trailing down to her breasts. Lex giggled nervously as it wiped his skin clean. Then she opened her mouth wide, revealing two rows of teeth, jagged and transparent like broken glass. He was much less excited by that.

The Chaos Witch dug deep into his flesh. Lex shuddered and gasped while his whole body went limp. He twitched under the sudden and acute pain, whimpering and trying desperately to keep from choking on his own tongue. He felt the burning of his blood and the spreading cold as the demon sucked the vitality out of his body. The sucking sound so close to his ear nearly aroused him, but he was losing too much blood too quickly.

At last, there was a final slurp, and Quelaag rose. She licked her lips, spreading the thick blood like lipstick. Lex collapsed, limp, and Quelaag gently lowered him to the ground. The witch closed her eyes and took her sword back from the spider demon. She took a deep breath and puckered her lips.

"Oh… What's that taste? This sweet blood… it's familiar somehow. Almost enough to make me sick."

She laughed madly as the constant mane of fire and blasphemous runes that trailed from the spider's back grew thick and full. Her own hair caught fire at its tips, and her saber became fully wreathed in flame. With a cry, she charged at the Firesage, hacking through the stone roots with a blade so hot that the air around it blurred.

Oscar used the charge as a distraction to step around the obese demon. He'd long ago given up on cutting its stone flesh and now instead held the holy blade in his gauntleted hands. He bashed the guard against the demon like a hammer, cracking its skin. Solaire scored a direct hit with his lightning, but the Warrior of Sunlight was slowing down as the fight drew on and exhausted his focus. The Firesage ignored the attacks and met Quelaag head-on, blocking her burning sword with his voulge of volcanic rock.

"Are you ready to be bested again, _ungolbîn_? Even with more Dark in you, you are weak as your ways are old!"

"You truly are a fool."

The spider opened its wide mouth and vomited lava over the other demon. Though made of stone and fire, the Firesage seemed to have no special resistance to the molten rock. He gave a guttural scream and stumbled away, reaching along the wall for the next mummy to drain.

"Slow him down!" Quelaag barked.

The knights didn't need the encouragement. Oscar ran around the lava and swung his sword upward, hammering the demon's kneecap. Solaire hurled another bolt, striking the Firesage in the arm and costing the demon a second. Quelaag held her free hand out to one side, a wild flame forming in her palm. She dove for the Firesage, ducking past his desperate swing.

Quelaag grabbed the larger demon by his meaty throat, pulling him away from the wall – not with strength but with pain from the heat. She let him go, and he fell limp for a moment before she dug her claws into his chest. Lava spewed from the wound as the fire caused her talons to sink deeper and deeper. The Firesage fell to his knees, insensate. With a final thrust, the witch unleashed a blast of Chaos Flame that spouted through the lesser demon's back.

The flames about Quelaag dimmed and fizzled as her excess energy bled out, and she threw the demon's corpse away with disgust. The witch turned back to face the humans. Oscar was breathing heavily, Solaire was making the solar sign, and Lex was struggling to regain his feet.

"I know you are exhausted," she said, "but we must press the attack. They will soon find their priest is dead and fight over who has the right to serve the monstrosity that infests Mother's corpse. We will lose our opportunity to destroy it if that happens. Hurry. I will lead you to the throne room."


	19. Only You Can Save Me

Quelaag led the humans back they way they'd come, turning into one of the root-choked passages at the crossroad. As they hurried down the lightless halls, they passed countless humans mummified by stone roots in the wall settings. A sense of dread mounted as the demon led them down a winding staircase and into another such hallway and then another and another. All the ruins of Izalith seemed to be filled with the drained bodies of its human inhabitants.

Still further they passed, into the depths of the cavern in which the lost city had been built. There were many branching paths, but Quelaag led them always forward, along the main passage. As they drew deeper, skittering creatures fled before them in the darkness. Lex focused his prophetic eye as best he could while running and caught sight of disgusting insects with misshapen limbs and long fangs. They scattered in all directions, and Quelaag quickly stopped.

"Hold!" she commanded, raising her free hand. "We've been been surrounded."

"How so?" Oscar asked, though he readied his sword and shield regardless. "The last passage was some time ago."

"They are not coming from a passage. I would have thought my presence would hold them from such an attack, but the weak grow bold in numbers. It's the insects, de Collunaires. They wish to feast upon your noble blood."

All around the group and deep into the passage, there was the sound of stone grinding and then cracking. The mummified bodies, not quite hollow but long drained of all vigor, slowly broke free of the withered Chaos vines. The countless men and women moaned, firelight burning in their eyes and throats. Most wore long-tattered garments of burnt umber cloth, and some bore long machetes. Atop the head of each mummy was one of the fleeing insects, seven legs outstretched in disgusting imitation of the sun.

"There are too many," Quelaag growled. "We will exhaust ourselves before we reach the palace. Knights, to the front! Lex, keep watch! Do not allow a single insect to approach if you enjoy the use of your body!"

"Oh, boy, do I ever," the cleric chuckled grimly.

"No clever comments!"

Quelaag turned and walked between the two knights. Countless insect-controlled bodies stumbled toward them through the long hallway.

"I had hoped to find a way to save as many as I could. Let us see if the insects comply with that wish."

She took a deep breath and pat her spider on the head, who likewise sucked in air. It released the breath with a wide swathe of lava, blocking the tunnel behind them. The mummies in the path of the spray were too slow to avoid it and were reduced to vapor in moments. Those further back hesitated, then the closest attempted to pass. They lost their legs immediately, then fell face-first into the blazing sea. The shrieks of the burning insects were enough to halt the rest, who stared blankly across the lava.

The mummies still ahead of the group shambled toward them and swung their machetes or long-nailed hands clumsily, like hollows. Oscar and Solaire had no difficulty dispatching them – only the insects would flee as their hosts fell. The bugs skittered further down the passage and pulled more mummies from the alcoves in the walls.

"No good, Solaire," Oscar panted. "We need to aim for their heads."

"What disgusting creatures," Solaire replied. "They do no fighting of their own and use these helpless people as shields. I think these insects, at least, deserve the reputation of demons."

"Hold on. Since the crow's out of the bag, let me try something," Lex said.

His mind raced as he struggled to intuit how the insects controlled their hosts. His lips moved without thought, and his voice rang out. His thoughts coalesced with wills of their own, taking shape from the divine power he invoked. Dark sought Dark. Shadows dimmer than the unlit passage slipped through the air. There was a disgusting sound like constant slurping, and the wrasse slowly became visible. They fed off the Chaos infections in the mummies, tracing tiny vines through the bodies and back to the insects.

One by one, the demons were abruptly cut loose from their hosts' heads and fell to the floor, confused. Before they had the chance to recover, Oscar and Solaire skewered them. The pair took the first few by surprise and chased the remainder a short distance into the passage before stopping to regroup. Some mummies further ahead were still controlled by the insects, but they had frozen, unsure whether to proceed and risk this new threat. Once full from feeding, each wrasse popped, leaving behind nothing but greasy stains on the stone.

"Prophet," Solaire said quietly, "what exactly was that?"

"The Dark," Oscar said grimly. "A gift from the Pardoner?"

"No. I still haven't- well, that's beside the point. This is something I learned on my own. Something the Goddess guided me to in my time of need."

"The Goddess," Solaire repeated. "She was here? The wife of Lord Gwyn?" He paused. "The rebel witch Velka?"

"Yes, Solaire. She is called Berenike in the east – Beryf in the old form – and she wore a fair and noble face with that name. She appeared to me as a murder of crows and gave me this equipment."

Quelaag had rejoined them, a scowl on her lips.

"Wasting time with this story? Could you not wait until we had fulfilled her objective like good puppets? She deceived and betrayed the three Lords. It is only by Gwyn's quick thinking they survived, no matter how diminished. Today, we will put my mother to rest at last. I can only imagine the look on that traitor's face as we do what she could not. Believe me, knights, I hate the Raven Witch more than your foolish hurch could ever hope – yet the matter of her prophet is something to be solved another time."

"Do demons not fear the Dark?" Oscar asked.

"Of course we do. We fear also the Fire. To do otherwise would be folly. Do you not see the ruins around you? Fire is what wrought them. Hate Velka for her perfidy – not for the Dark she bears in her wings."

Oscar nodded curtly, and Solaire perked up.

"I see!" the holy knight said. "I should know better than to judge by reputation. After all, even the Lord of Sunlight became estranged from Anor Londo."

"Good. Now, let that be the end of this quarreling until the palace is reclaimed."

In the far back of the passage, the sound of stone grinding against stone echoed faintly. It scraped again and again, slow but drawing nearer.

"Listen to what this delay has wrought! Some larger demon knows we wander these halls. Hurry! Before it finds our trail!"

Quelaag led them down the tunnel, the insect-driven mummies fleeing now that their numbers were broken. They stumbled down tunnels or cowered in corners while the group hurried onward. At last, they came to a great gate comprised of four pillars, and the demon held her head high before shouting.

" _Laag_!"

The pillars sank one by one, letting the red light of the lava outside into the passage. Without breaking pace, the group hustled up the stairs as fast as they could without tiring themselves. What lay beyond was inner Izalith, unseen by any save the trapped Chaos demons since Gwyn had sealed it a thousand years prior.

The oldest texts, those which the abbots and archdeacons burned or sealed away, called Izalith the ineffable Capital of Chaos. Indeed, there could be no other words to describe it. Rising from an endless sea of lava was a sprawling structure – a single building larger than the capitals of Carim or Astora – which yet still had smaller towers rising around it. The roof of the chasm could not even be seen, for the massive structure was contained within a crafted dome of mind-boggling scope.

The largest single part of the megastructure, the central palace, reached all the way to the top of the dome. The height of the Undead Burg no longer seemed impressive. On the corners of the stepped pyramid floated more statues of the Firesage – these were each fully as large of one of the Burg's clumsily-built towers. This was the home of the Witch of Izalith, one of the Lords who claimed the Flame.

All throughout the domed sea milled colossal, malformed creatures, each larger than even the drake which had attacked the humans on the bridge. The monsters' forms were difficult to make out, scorched black flesh illuminated by the red glow of the lava. Yet Lex's prophetic eye saw them for what they were – the severed torsos of dragons animated by the living magic of Chaos.

"Quelaag, what-? I can't even figure out what question to ask. What am I looking at?"

"Surely, you've noticed that your bonfires are made from human bone. For our Chaos Kiln, we sought to use the bones of dragons. We had hoped their everlasting bodies would mean an everlasting Flame."

"Why just the… …the butts?"

"Chaos is all the unpredictability and vibrancy of life. We would not risk awakening our old, undying, foes by using their skulls. Nor would we allow the danger of blind, flying beasts. As such, we severed the dragons' spinal columns beneath the wings. Keep your eyes forward, prophet – you fail to see the obvious."

On and on before them stretched a covered bridge which stood defiantly over the lava. Dead Chaos roots wrapped around it but didn't seem to have damaged it. Lex looked dead ahead and at last noticed their path was blocked by some sort of pitch-black creature, another shadow in the harsh lighting. It was larger than most demons but leaner than the Firesage by far. Fortunately, it was facing the other direction, as if to stop demons from escaping.

"What kind of demon is that?"

"If it be a demon, it is no creature of Chaos."

Solaire spoke up, "Oscar, do you think it is the same manner of creature we saw before?"

The thing was still quite some distance away, and it was difficult to make out against the shadow of the ruins beyond. Oscar raised his shield to protect his eyes from the worst of the lava's glow.

"No doubt about it. See the weapon? That's a man catcher, just like the other one."

"A what?" Lex said.

"A man catcher, or catch-pole. A hundred years ago, they were used to unhorse and capture noblemen for ransom instead of killing them. More recently, they were used on undead. Before there were more of us undead than alive."

"You had something like that in Astora?" Lex growled. "All we had in Carim were pogroms."

"I was unaware there was something of this sort either," Solaire said, rubbing the bottom of his helmet thoughtfully.

"You wouldn't have been," Oscar continued. "Capturing one's foe is still a dangerous undertaking. They were only used for 'important' undead, and only nobles were trained in their use. My father and the others couldn't have lowborn knights ransoming their betters."

"As much as I appreciate the history, de Collunaires," Quelaag said, "what does this mean for us? Will it merely attempt to capture us, or will it halt our progress?"

"It will fight like any of the other mad creatures of Lordran. Normally, catch-poles are spiked or studded, to better grab armored noblemen. The one we saw had a bladed pole. I can't fathom its intended usage, but it swung the weapon like a hollow swings a halberd."

"It is worse than that!" Solaire added. "The foul creature can use its weapon to throw lightning! Witch Quelaag, you knew the Lord of Sunlight. How is this possible?"

The demon took a finger to her lips in thought. A moment passed before she spoke.

"Know that a god's power has naught to do with their will. One who does not properly understand the god's will may have difficulty invoking a miracle, but a god has no power to stop a renegade cleric. Keep this well in mind when the time comes, Lexion."

Solaire was no less confused.

"This creature was once a servant of the Sun?"

"Of one Sun, certainly. Lord Gwyn, his wayward heir; how many more lesser Suns have claimed that title since my family was trapped here? Your answers lie in Anor Londo, whose webs are more intricate than anything I have ever woven. I will aid you in navigating them, but we must first secure Izalith. If you know nothing more about the creature before us, then to arms."

Oscar shook his head.

"The one we encountered had only one leg. Instead of attempting to fight, we ran around it. There was no way of knowing how much the fight would delay our rendezvous with Lex."

"Then onward. We cannot so easily avoid this one. Be certain that you do not stand between the beast and the bridge's edge; we cannot wait for you to return from the bonfire if you are cast into the lava."

As they approached, Lex's empowered eye caught something peculiar.

"Say, Oscar, which leg was that creature missing?"

"The left. Why do you ask?"

"Because this one's also missing a left leg. And a… head, it looks like."

"Wait for it to turn around. It has a head. One that might make more sense to you than it did to the two of us."

The group approached quietly, Quelaag's spindly legs floating over the stone without a sound. The creature was made of some sort of rough-hewn black stone, the jagged edges gray-white. It was the shape of a man at physical perfection, save a long, reptilian tail. From each shoulder blade was a great arc which curved inward so that the pair nearly formed a ring over its yet-unseen head. Its weapon was a polearm whose head was likewise a ring with a gap at the apex. For some reason, the monster's grip on the weapon was choked up so far that it nearly reached the double-edged head.

There was a small amount of room on either side of the beast, such that the humans could have run past it if they were careful. That simply wasn't an option for the demon witch, and they weren't about to wander through the Chaos Capital without a guide. The group had hardly made any progress toward the heart of the demon city, and they were already about to enter their second fight against a monster the likes of which would have made them legends in the outside world.

"In the name of _Quelaag Rochim_ , leave this path or be slain."

The beast turned at the witch's growl, but her sword was already in motion. The chitin blade wouldn't have made more than a scratch across the stone, but the fires roaring from it melted a gash that would have paralyzed a creature with a spine. Without warning, the beast leaned forward and vanished. Quelaag had hunted dragons at the dawn of Fire, and Oscar's kinetic vision was a combination of heroic blood and harsh training. While Lex and Solaire simply blinked in astonishment, the perceptive two followed the monster as it hurtled through the air.

It landed some distance away and drove the butt of its polearm into the stone. It slid on the stump of its missing leg and pivoted on its weapon to face the group. Oscar hadn't been quite right when he said the creature had a head. Certainly, a neck rose from its shoulders, but it terminated in a long, flat plate that was pinched to points at the top and bottom. Runes were engraved along the length of the stone slab.

"What in Havel's name is this rock monster?" Lex said.

"It matters not," Quelaag hissed as she charged. "We're going to kill it!"

The creature raised its polearm like a sorcerer wielding a heavy staff. Lightning crackled and arced between the two spines rising from the monster's back, flowing over the mirrored shape of the catch pole. There wasn't much room for Quelaag to avoid the thunderbolt, so she simply did as the creature had done and threw herself into the air. Solaire and Oscar rushed ahead on either side, while Lex in the middle was forced to throw himself out of the way.

Because of that, he saw it closely as it hurtled past. He couldn't follow it like Oscar could, but he only needed to glimpse something for a moment with his left eye to truly see it. In the heat of danger, it was easy to make a mistake in judging a fast and bright object. Velka's eye couldn't make that mistake. This attack was no Lightning Spear – at least not one of Gwyn's. Instead of an ornately-wrought bolt, it had the crude geometric shape of a sorcery.

"Quelaag, that thing might be intelligent!"

"So was the Firesage!"

The witch made an acrobatic slash as she fell, leaning into the swing and putting the full weight of her demon body behind her. The monster defended by resting the back of its weapon along its forearm and simply taking the blow on the haft. The weapon seemed more durable than the creature's own body, as the black metal resisted warping from the intense heat of Quelaag's saber.

The beast dragged itself forward with its free hand and hacked the back of its man catcher through the spider demon's countless eyes. The spider screeched and hissed, but the witch dug her claws into the black of its head and kept it from fleeing. With a swift tug on the spider's flesh, she signaled for it to vomit lava. The molten stone spewed over the creature at point blank range, but it didn't seem to have any sense of pain.

It made another flying leap backward before Oscar or Solaire could even reach it. Once more, the paired arcs on its back crackled with lightning. This time, Quelaag skittered to the side, ducking under an overhang and squeezing between the pillars lining the bridge. As the beast threw its lightning, she crawled onto the roof of the covered bridge. The knights stopped where they were, taking a moment to catch their breath while the projectile hurtled toward where the demon had been standing.

"Run past it!" she yelled. "We're pushing it back, but we can't risk such grave injury! We'll lose the creature in the city!"

"Understood!" Oscar yelled.

"I hate to flee from a monster like this," Solaire said, "but I'll follow your lead!"

"Working on it!" Lex screamed, still quite some distance behind.

Seeing only weaker prey, the beast dragged itself forward once more.

"Solaire," Oscar said, "you go first. I have the stronger shield. I'll stay within its range and distract it while Lex crosses. Support me with lightning if needed."

The other knight saluted.

"You've gotten bolder, Oscar. I think even your father, the Count, would have been proud."

Oscar just grumbled, so Solaire stepped closer to the monster. It dragged itself toward them on its missing leg at first, then stopped.

"Solaire, run!"

The monster dipped, then leapt into the air once more. Solaire sprinted under it, then spun about with a lightning spear in hand. Oscar waited until the last moment, then flung himself to the floor, rolling under the beast just before it landed. He swung his sword as he rose, smashing the guard into the wound Quelaag had left in the creature's back. As he stepped back, Solaire flung his bolt at the same spot. The creature impassively turned to face the pair of knights, letting its weapon slide forward in its grip to use its full range.

As the beast took a grand sweep at both knights, Lex sprinted toward it. Oscar fell flat and let the pole pass overhead before charging back into the fray. Solaire took a step back and raised his broad shield. As the bladed ring struck the board, he let himself turn with the motion and spun away from its edge. Oscar managed a quick hit on the monster's good leg before the thing swept its weapon back.

Seeing the opportunity, Lex ran toward the creature's left side as the catch pole swung away. Only, he had forgotten about the beast's tail. It swept back to counterbalance the weapon, and before the cleric realized, the stone length whipped across his body. The pain was enough to stun him so that he couldn't try and catch hold of anything before he found himself floating above the lava. He only recognized his peril as he began to arc downward. He was going to burn to death again.

"Oh," he whimpered, "Goddess, save me."

He closed his eyes as the air began to rush around him. He heard Oscar shouting and Quelaag roaring in frustration, but panic kept him from hearing the words. The moments ticked away, and the heat of the lava grew nearer. Suddenly, the breath was knocked out of him as an arm grabbed around his waist.

"My Lady-" he started as he reluctantly opened his eyes.

"You should know better than to ever confuse me for that monster," Quelaag growled.

Lex had opened his eyes just in time to watch them hit the lava. He shrieked like a child and clung to the demon, forgetting her nudity entirely. Instead of bursting into flame or sinking beneath the molten stone, they came to a gentle stop. Quelaag's eight legs balanced her and adjusted quickly to the surface tension so that she floated easily in spite of her tremendous body. The tremendous heat did not scald her; of course a demon that counted lava as a bodily fluid wouldn't be harmed by it.

"You," Lex said, "you saved me."

"Did you not listen when I said we had no time to wait for a revival?"

"You could have let me die. I'm not much use for whatever fight might be next. And I'm still a little woozy from blood loss, so I can't help you with that again."

"Do you think me so callous as to watch someone die when I could save them? Even for undead, each death is another step toward hollowing."

"You enslaved other-"

"I _threatened_ you with enslavement, did I not? Those so-called heroes had every chance to flee once I had slain them. It is only those who return in hubris that I break."

Lex sighed, not about to argue with someone holding him above a lake of fire.

"What now?"

"We will rejoin the knights shortly. I have told them to hold the edge of the bridge if the creature gives pursuit. We need only scale the city's wall, which is hardly a challenge for a body such as mine. Now, if you would put yourself to use whilst I carry you, I was wounded earlier."


	20. Temple of the Insects

Lex watched the dragon torsos slowly push through the lava as Quelaag carried him to the city's edge. The beasts were charred black from the lava, but of course, even such fires had little effect on fire-breathing monsters. Yet huge pits scored their hide as if from pox – surely the work of the Gravelord's miasma. The half-bodies wandered aimlessly, yellowed ribs gleaming in the red light. Fortunately, there were none near the bridge itself, so he and Quelaag had a safe path onward.

The walls themselves were simple. Here, in the oldest part of Izalith, the demons had not bothered with beautifying something which would hardly be seen. The stone was straight and high, with wide struts strengthening the lower levels as the tiered structure rose higher than even the largest human city. That was only the wall – the actual towers of the demon capital reached to the dome itself, much of which Lex now saw had broken away to reveal the walls of the volcanic cavern.

Quelaag shifted from the lava to the wall without missing a step. It seemed the demon spider which had consumed her lower body was capable of crossing any sort of surface easily. As the demon made its way up, it climbed over half-dead Chaos vines which twitched and steamed with a pulse of their own. They were charred and black in places, and where they had been torn or broken, still more lava oozed like sap.

Crossing over the top of the wall, the whole of the metropolis stretched out before Lex. It was an entire kingdom, compressed and built together as a single massive temple. The inner buildings were of truly tremendous height to house the ancient Lord, the Witch of Izalith, but each successive ring aspired for the same grandeur. The city was at the same time, a ritual site. The prophet could see with his blessed eye the flow of power through the paths and stairs, though many conduits were now broken and unbalanced as the city lay dying.

Great shrines marked the borders of the capital, rising above the wall like watchtowers. Yet, there was no regularity to them; they followed some grand, unseen design. This was the majesty of Chaos, the organic and anarchic power of life driven to its limit. Lex could almost hear the bustle of the monastery-town, more like the screaming and running in the markets he had seen as a merchant's child than the oppressive quiet and ominous chanting of the Cathedral.

"It's beautiful," he murmured. "This is… hell?"

"This is but ruin," Quelaag sighed. "Izalith was a place of learning, once. While the Lord of Sunlight looked outward and gazed down upon the whole world, Mother looked inward. Lord Gwyn thought it duty to bring the light of civilization to all the dark corners and secret places. Mother thought it better to simply watch and let those who wished to have it come to us with their own strength.

She did not help Gwyn when the Flame began to fade. Too grand a scheme it was, to restore the First Flame which had granted them power. Better that she create a little Fire just for us, just for Izalith. Yet they were destroyed alike. Fear always the Fire, cleric."

In spite of the city's desolate beauty, it quickly became apparent just how dangerous Fire could be. Roars and the clashing of blades echoed over the temple in place of prayers. Below, Oscar and Solaire fought against living statues in the shape of the Firesage. On rooftops, the horrible crawling things which Quelaag commanded swarmed over beast-headed demons. In the distance, a shimmering golden orb spun into the air as a signal flare.

Lex followed the way it had come and focused with his blessed eye. Kirk stood among Quelaag's other Servants within a sort of impromptu fortification. While his subordinates struggled to defend the barricades of fallen stone, the renowned knight shouted commands and directed them with his barbed sword.

"The Thorn Knight is being overwhelmed," he said, looking up to Quelaag.

"I see the signal. Kirk can handle himself. We must fetch your companions and hurry to the throne room. The demons' organization may be in disarray without their high priest, but Chaos is their natural state. Only if we seize the Chaos Flame, can we force them heel. Hold fast; I'm descending directly."

Lex pulled himself upright and wrapped his arms around the demon's trim waist. Though he had been too distracted by fear of the lava or the beauty of the city to this point, he finally realized he was hugging a naked woman. His face went red from the scandal of it, but that only lasted a moment. Quelaag jumped off the top of the wall, and he was back to screaming in fear.

The air rushed past them for a long moment as they fell to the lowest, outermost ring of Izalith. When they struck the ground, Lex only slightly blacked out instead of dying, as the demon's deformed legs distributed the force across a wide area. A fish-headed demon swung a tremendous slab of iron over its head and toward the pair, but Quelaag simply dove past it. Its head rolled from its shoulders as the witch spun her saber in hand.

Solaire and Oscar had fought their way from the end of the bridge, holding their swords upside down and wielding them as clubs against the demonic statues of the Firesage. They gave a shout as Quelaag approached, simply kicking the statues out of the way with her long legs. She set Lex down at last, turning to the knights.

"How are your weapons holding up?"

"My sword is holy steel," Oscar said as he bashed the jaw off a statue. "It will endure, though I will need a smith to straighten it after this."

Solaire laughed, though he seemed a bit sad.

"I'm afraid my poor old friend won't be seeing much more fighting. I have kept my equipment in good repair, but no sword was meant for this."

"We will need to find spare weapons," Quelaag said thoughtfully. "We cannot delay for long, but some of the demons produce corrosive fluids. I will not risk ruining the attack on the palace with bent and half-melted blades. Lexion, can you guide us to Kirk? He will know more of the city's state than I."

The cleric nodded.

"I might not be able to guide us through the streets, but if you carry me onto the rooftops-"

"If I am already on the rooftops, what need have I of you?"

"Enhanced vision?"

He sighed.

"Let me try."

Lex focused on the concept of seeing Izalith as it had been in the distant past. As the buildings began to shimmer and overlay with their lost glory, he fixed his eye carefully. He had let the visions get away from him too many times and leave him mentally exhausted, both from the raw effort and from watching so many people die. Now, the prophet at last began to properly direct his sight.

He saw Solaire and Oscar as they were and Quelaag as she had been – the gods' kin. Unlike the illusory forms Goddess Berenike took, the Daughter of Chaos stood tall and proud, the size of two men or more. A witch like his mistress, Quelaag had worn black robes in those days. Only, she did not cloak her face in shadow.

"What are you doing?" she said impatiently.

"Ah, sorry!" the prophet said, trying to keep the trance in focus. "I'm halfway in the past. You were a lot taller then."

His spirit flew from his body, and he "remembered" the paths through the city while discovering dead ends and new routes through the ruins. At last, he found Quelaag's Servants. He saw them as they truly were, beneath their Chaos-warped flesh. Even the deformed things which dragged themselves over the rooftops had once been human. Yet try though he might, he couldn't find the Thorn Knight.

Certainly, there was a knight among the Servants who commanded them with a growl like iron nails. Certainly, his body was bound in thorny vines. Yet these vines he saw were healthy and alive, unlike the withered brambles Kirk wore. The knight was not the feared Darkwraith – he glowed with a flickering ember of Gwyn's holy sunlight.

Lex turned about and raced back into his own body.

"I found the group, but… is Kirk a cleric?"

Quelaag winced.

"You said you saw the past, did you not? Dig no further into Kirk's history. You have already violated my privacy with that power of yours. The least consideration you could show would be to let my subordinates alone. That man bears deeper wounds than most of your kind."

She took a breath before continuing, "You know the path? Lead us. We have wasted more than enough time. Take the most direct route you pygmies can cross; I will climb past any obstacle."

"Pygmies?" Solaire echoed.

Lex nodded and motioned for the knights to follow. He led them through the debris-filled streets and narrow alleyways. They entered ruined temples and climbed out through cracks in their altars. All the while, Quelaag simply brute-forced her way forward, climbing over obstacles effortlessly. Some of the rooftops she passed bore lifeless statues of the Firesage and his kind; she decapitated each one with a flick of her burning sword.

There had been more than just speed in her suggestion to take the direct route. Though she was among the largest of demons, others were by no means small. The human-sized paths between buildings in the outer ring were safe from attack simply because the defending demons could not enter. That said, the humans were able to watch towering monsters from a safe distance. The demons of the inner Izalith were different from those they had seen outside. A bull and a goat – these were simple farm animals. As the group moved deeper into the city, the creatures with which the people of Izalith had joined took on more sinister forms, slithering things which crawled between buildings or insectile soldiers with a weapon in each hand.

They came upon the courtyard to find Quelaag's Servants were slowly getting picked off. Many of the hideous crawling things were gone, and the undead were all haggard from wounds which would have killed a living human many times over. The Servants rushed to defend from what they thought was another attack until Kirk gave a shout.

"That's Mistress Quelaag, you fools! Eyes sharp! No wonder we're in tatters if you lot can't even tell friend from foe!"

"Kirk, report!" the witch barked.

"Nothing we can't handle, Mistress Quelaag. Some fliers gave us trouble not long ago, but we had enough arrows and sorcery to make do. We'll keep drawing them here while you take the palace."

"Our visiting knights are in need of secondary armaments. Theirs are quite worn. What have you scavenged through the city?"

"Precious little. The demons have used up most of the materials. The ones the cleric mentioned attacking the surface must have forced their way past us to raid for supplies. We might have an old cache hidden somewhere, but I wouldn't count on it."

"Damn those locusts," Quelaag hissed. "We're no better than the pygmies like this."

There was a sharp irony in Kirk's voice.

"Even the most gluttonous demon is free. No matter. I'll send a team to draw most of the Chaos Eaters here. Worn weapons are still better than acid-burnt ones." Kirk turned to Lex and the knights, changing topic, "You humans, is your condition all right? We can spare some healing pyromancy. This is the only chance we have to save Izalith; I won't have you drag down Mistress Quelaag."

"I couldn't complain when your own forces are in such condition, good Sir Thorns," Solaire said, concern in his voice as he looked at the misshapen Servants.

"It will take more than this to snuff us out. Only the most bitter and driven are left. We're all willing to hollow to put an end to this."

"But surely-!"

"It is his decision, Solaire," Oscar said, raising a hand. "Myself, I am only a little stiff from striking such hard creatures. I have avoided injury."

Lex shrugged and said, "I healed myself when I knitted up Quelaag."

"So be it," Kirk said. " _Pipia!_ "

Four Servants turned with military timing at the shout.

"We need to clear the path for Mistress Quelaag and Lloyd's dogs! Lure the _quelmado_ here!"

"Oh, there will be no need for that."

It almost sounded as if Quelaag was speaking from a distance. This voice was older and perhaps even more exhausted. Kirk and Quelaag herself immediately snapped on guard, but it was too late for the Servants guarding one side of the camp. A volley of green fluid fell upon them like hail. Where the viscous goo landed, leather and chitin burned in an instant while iron slowly sizzled to nothing. The undead hissed not so much from the pain of the burning fluid but from their misshapen forms being unveiled after countless years of concealment.

Every one of the servants was riddled with unchecked mutation. The lucky ones merely had odd feelers or vestigial wings; maybe some vines growing through their flesh like tumors. Others had extra limbs growing where they did not belong, all in the shape of the gods' eight-rayed sun icon. Lex wondered to himself how Quelaag had retained her divine beauty. Perhaps the witches had once reined in such transformations. He turned to the speaking voice and saw that must be true.

It was a Daughter of Chaos, as they had been in the Age of Ancients – only, diminished. The figure stood shrouded in charred robes of spider silk and the gods' golden thread. Bare feet of the gods' light complexion were unmarred by the soot or the rubble, but that was all of the body he could see with normal sight. With his Goddess-given insight, however, he could see she was beautiful and untainted by all the corruption of Chaos swirling around her. She resembled Quelaag almost perfectly, save that her face was rounded where Quelaag's was viciously sharp and that she was far more worn by the long years.

" _Ado!_ "

Another volley of viscous acid arced from behind the Servants' makeshift fortifications. The creatures spitting the acid at last showed themselves.

The egg-infested worshipers were nauseating to look at because of the terrible fate they represented. Had mere beasts been infested, it would have merely been disgusting. So too were the mutations of the Servants sickening because they happened to humans.

What approached could not even be identified as man or beast. Lex briefly wished he had stared at the Blightbaron longer if only to build a tolerance.

They were unnatural things which could not easily be described. It was as if the wide maw of a leech stood up on its own without the rest of the leech. The things wobbled and flopped as they moved, endless bloodletting fangs glistening in the firelight. Only, the surrounding flesh was not blind as a leech. Instead, there were countless uncoordinated eyes boggling at everything and nothing.

The unbalanced towers of eyes and teeth shuffled along on seven legs like the prehensile snouts of those war-beasts of the distant south, those "elephants." These false legs reached in every direction as the things walked. Each had a great, sucking end covered in countless tendrils that felt and tasted everything around them. It was from these trunks that the acid dripped, leaving the once-beautiful masonry pitted and scarred more than the lava ever had.

"Servants!" Quelaag screamed. "Charge! We're in a killing field!"

They had been surrounded by the creatures, which could easily climb over buildings like Quelaag's own long-armed monsters. Only, there were few of those "cragspiders" which had survived the journey, and they had proved no defense against the sheer numbers of the new arrivals.

The entire camp ran all at once. Some of the Servants were unfortunate enough to be caught by the grasping tendrils and were torn to shreds as they were cast into the monsters' ravenous maws. Others stopped to fight, but as they swung for one creature, another melted their weapons to slag. The lucky few to escape immediate death found that the creatures were just as fragile as one would expect vermin made mostly of eyes.

Only, the monsters weren't what Quelaag had warned about.

"There's no time!" she snapped. "Everyone on my back! Lex, Havel!"

The witch's heavy spider body crashed to the ground, and her countless legs dug tightly into the stone.

"Pardon me!" Solaire eked out before lunging onto the demon's back along with Lex, Oscar, and Kirk.

Lex spat out a prayer to Bishop Havel, protecting all of them with Magic Barriers. He looked at Quelaag, then followed her gaze to the other Daughter of Chaos. The hood raised slightly, and he saw a miserable scowl as she spread her arms wide. With a single great motion, the ancient witch touched both hands to the ground.

 _The witches weaved great firestorms._

Though greatly diminished and alone, this witch yet retained a great deal more power than starving Quelaag or her ill sister. The whole of the courtyard erupted in a single towering pillar of flame, pulsing with its own heartbeat. When at last the flames died down, the courtyard had become a pool of lava, only slowly leaking out the side paths.

The Servants were less than ash. Only those four on Quelaag's back, protected from the direct blast of the flame, survived. That wasn't much better, though. The demon witch had been unaffected, of course, but the human were in dire shape. Lex panted, trying desperately to stop from crying out in fear. Oscar tried to rise but found himself unable to do more than writhe in his red-hot armor. Solaire at least made it to his knees, grasping his holy talisman.

"Praise the… Sun…" he choked, throat dry from the heat. "You have my… thanks…"

The thorns of Kirk's armor dug into Quelaag's side, but she said nothing, even as he fumbled to find his grip.

"Go," he said.

"I think I misheard you," she said. "You did not just order-"

"Go. You cannot lose this chance. I will hold her here."

"You are in no condition to-"

"Shut up and go. You could beat her, but not before she wasted your opportunity. Do what I was too foolish to do. Break the Witch's spell. Return things to how they should be."

The Thorn Knight threw himself into the lava. Even standing, it rose to his knees, liquid stone hot enough to kill a human simply for being too close. Quelaag rose as swiftly as she could without jostling her passengers loose.

"No, let me stay with him!" Solaire said, trying to dismount.

"I'll need your lightning more, Warrior of Sunlight. Kirk will die here, but he will give us the opportunity to reach what's left of the Witch of Izalith unmolested."

"Always so headstrong, Laageg," the other witch said, spiteful humor in her voice. "Always so willing to make sacrifices… of others. Do you truly believe this half-dead _firion_ will grant you sufficient time?"

Midway through her sister's speaking, Quelaag tensed her legs. As the last word broke, she launched into the air, and the elder witch unleashed a blazing whip. Kirk threw his sword, and thorned vines sprouted from its hilt, extending it into a spear. He batted away the lash with the longer weapon before it could snarl one of Quelaag's legs. As the witch withdrew her whip, the knight slung his shield onto his back and took up the spear with both hands.

"We're both pale shades of what we were. But I was always mortal. How does it feel? The fear of death?"

"You will not undo what I have suffered these thousand years-!"

Quelaag landed on a rooftop with a disgusting squelch as her legs tore through eyes and mouths. Her spider howled with fury, and a bloody shockwave splattered open a path across the roof.

" _Letho!_ "

The remaining creatures raised their trunks and spat acid, but Quelaag thundered away, fire trailing behind her.

"Curse you, pygmy! You know not what I endured to keep Izalith alive! That furious fool will destroy what's left, and the ravens will devour it all!"

Kirk continued wading through the lava toward her, unflinching from heat or pain.

"You think I don't know about that monster? We've all made sacrifices fighting her. You think I would abandon my covenant to stay here?"

While the witch was preoccupied with her rage, Kirk drove his spear at her. She ducked to the side and folded her whip onto itself, trying to catch the knight with a lasso of flame.

"You know nothing of the world! Your people watch mere shadows of the truth!" she hissed. "Izalith alone illuminated our base ignorance! We will lose everything and pass into the blind Dark!"

Kirk whipped his weapon sidelong, catching the loop on the spear's butt. As the lasso tightened around his weapon, he severed the vines forming the shaft and took hold of the sword's grip with both hands. He stepped into an arcing swing that tore through the witch's billowing robes. She tried to blast him away with a small explosion, but the thorns of his blade kept catching her robes, preventing her from getting more than a few steps away.

"No," Kirk said, small flames smoldering on his vines. "That monster is cleverer than that. She doesn't need to blind us if she controls what we see. That cleric Quelaag saved is Berenike's prophet. A holy man to seize the Church. To usurp Lloyd like she has everyone else."

"She will control your people's hearts."

"Cattle to feed the Flame."

The witch was very still for a moment.

" _Letho!_ "

The creatures had not intervened in the fight so that they wouldn't risk harming their mistress, but now they unleashed a torrent of acid toward the pair. The witch tore away her sleeve to escape Kirk's clutch and sprinted toward the nearest building. She spun her whip and lashed it onto the reliefs lining the roof. With a short leap, she began dashing up the side of the structure.

As the acid washed over Kirk, his overgrown and knotted vines began to fall away. The thorns slipped out from his flesh, and blood dripped into the lava as the old wounds opened. In spite of his age, the undead hadn't hollowed in the slightest. He had the predatory, avian looks of Carim nobility made worse by deep wrinkles and a sour expression. Yet his hair curled like wool, marking him as Thorolund stock older than the Way of White's control of that land.

The red rust sizzled off his torn and holey black iron armor, but the acid did it little harm. Still, the burning slime sank into the armor and filled his wounds. Kirk wouldn't last much longer.

"Did you forget…" he murmured as he drew his sword back in that so-familiar stance. "…what I am?"

Fresh, green vines flowed along the sword, turning it into a spear once more. This time, they flowed along the blade as well. The thorns twisted and grew into an elaborate crest.

"A knight of Carim protects his maiden from any who would do her harm, be it sister or mother."

Kirk cocked his arm back as if bearing Gwyn's thunderbolt.

"I am sworn to protect my maiden's home even if that home be hell itself."

With the last of his strength, the Thorn Knight hurled his spear. It crackled and splintered like lightning as it flew. Climbing on a cord, the witch's path was obvious; he couldn't miss. The splinters nailed her to the wall as Kirk crumpled into the lava. An accent slipped out as his consciousness slipped away.

" _I be Sper of An Kirk, evin iff that kirk be Izalith…_ "


	21. Sweet Child o' Mine

Quelaag practically flew across the rooftops. The powerful legs of a hunting spider carried her and the three humans over all manner of sloped roof or misshapen statue. As they neared the innermost palace, the demon dove into an alleyway and trotted to a stop, panting. A creature of Chaos was powerful, but without fuel for her inner flame, she lacked the boundless stamina of the undead. Carrying the added burden of three humans had taken more out of her than she had expected.

"Off," she said, trying and failing to keep from sounding winded. "Has Lex stopped babbling?"

The two knights had been forced to hold the cleric onto the demon's back as she raced through the city. Now, they pulled him down, but he was barely able to stand on his own. He stooped, grasping himself as if for warmth.

"Not again, my Lady, not again…"

"He's still in a trance," Oscar said, waving a hand in front of Lex's face. "He's like a warrior returned from a massacre."

"Then we should leave him to recover," Solaire said sadly.

"There's no time, is there, Lady Quelaag?" Oscar said, turning. "What about this situation has been changed by our presence? Surely, three more undead whose loyalties you could not trust… what advantage did we bring over your Servants? Why would you break the stalemate with the Firesage now? There's something about the timing."

"Very astute, Sir Count. Yet it is as you said – we have no time to discuss my motives. We must hurry afore my sister slays Kirk and bars our entry to the palace."

"We have until Lex recovers. Don't we? You said that you would not hesitate to leave us to die. Why do you keep interfering when Lex is involved? It would have been better for you to leave him when we were attacked… or when he fell from the bridge."

The demon glared at him. Chaos roiled in her eyes, lashing out as if to burrow into the knight's soul. Yet she could see no expression beneath his helm.

"So be it, Oscar de Collunaires. I salute your capacity for reason. Your talents are squandered as a mere knight. It is as you say. I want Lex alive and alert when I take the throne of Izalith. Yet allow me start by answering your prior question.

My Servants have certainly been stronger in the past – though their numbers have surged as of late, with the Fire's weakness sending ever more undead 'heroes' to my domain. In part, I chose to move because truthfully, even three warriors who are bound to forces outside Chaos is a powerful counterweight in this petty conflict with the Firesage. I could not bring my Servants to bear against him without concern some of them would be swayed by his offers of ancient fire arts I dare not teach. The battle did not go as planned, but you three did sway the balance in my favor without risking the loyalties of my Servants.

As for the second matter, Lex's involvement is more political. I keep the deacon alive as best I can because the Raven-Haired Witch no doubt sees through him."

"Velka," Oscar said.

"She is a manipulator without compare. My people are exposed even in that wretched poison pit above. Only by uniting the sputtering embers of Izalith can we hope to resist her designs. She will come for the Lord Soul, but she will not find me so easily controlled. Yet still in spite of my rulership, she will find a way to strike at us. My mind contorts to envision how she will attack. Perhaps she will bear news of my taking the throne and stir the Way of White to appoint a new Paladin."

"How could she control the Church like that? We are all taught of the rogue gods at a young age. The Black Rites still venerate them, but even the sects which celebrate them should know better than to trust rogue Velka. I cannot imagine the rigid Silver Rites of the Allfather so easily manipulated."

"She used her own daughter to manipulate my sire. In doing so, she sabotaged the Witch of Izalith and caused our entire people's downfall without lifting a black talon. That is the danger – none ever see her unless she reveals herself. Why, then, did she send such an obvious agent as innocent, young Lexion?"

"Could she not have innocent intentions this time?" Solaire said.

Quelaag snarled through teeth like needles.

"What I mean to say," the knight continued, "is that she was the wife of Lord Gwyn, was she not? Surely, she must be concerned about the fading Flame. Perhaps she has sent a Chosen Undead for the sake of a common good."

Quelaag was silent for a moment. She looked at one knight, then the other, then at last to Lex, who was still shivering.

"No. Something has happened to force her move. She did send a Chosen Undead when your kind first appeared. Not the first Chosen, but the greatest. The Champion of the Knights of Berenike. Now, she sends another Chosen of Berenike. Does she think all those who knew that name are dead, or does she grow desperate? Whichever be true, I will not face her without a rekindled Chaos.

Mistake not, I could have hidden. There are yet places where she dares not cast her gaze. Only, if I do not stand now, I fear no one will have the strength to resist her. Worse, no one will remember who she is. Your Rites have degraded her legend to a mere shadow. They proclaim fear of her by dogma alone, just as you claimed demons are wicked without knowing the reason we chose these twisted forms.

Whatever may pass here, however much you may come to fear or hate demons, know the true threat lies hidden, whispering in every ear. I will lay down my arms and be slain if that will let me tear out the Black Witch's black heart with my dying breath. Tell that to your Allfather if he calls."

Oscar fell silent. Solaire began to say something but hesitated. After a moment, he found his courage again.

"What of the Lord of Sunlight?"

"Which one? Old Lord Gwyn knew at the end, I think. The proud fool took the secret to the Flame with him. His heir, I wonder. For as much as the War God admired his father, he did so cling to his mother's sleeve."

Solaire took a breath.

"Thank you, for your honesty. This is a great deal to ponder."

"You think she speaks the truth?" Oscar said flatly.

"What would she gain from lying, now of all times, Oscar? We stand amidst the source of all demons, in Lost Izalith itself! This is a Daughter of Chaos, who hunted the everlasting dragons alongside Lord Gwyn! We are among legends, Oscar! The Allfather has hidden unpleasant truths from us like a doting father. We are mature enough to make the pilgrimage to Lordran. It is time that we made our own judgments."

Oscar turned his shield about and stared at the crest.

"The way everything has gone, I half-wonder if the problem is not monarchy itself. King Llewi, my father, Gwyn's wife, his uncle, his son… a Daughter of Chaos… I have asked enough questions, Lady Quelaag. All that's left is what to do with Lex."

The knight gestured without looking. The deacon was still moaning softly.

"I don't understand," Oscar continued. "He was put to death by burning, but did not you slay him in the same manner? Why would _surviving_ the inferno do this to him?"

"Consider yourself fortunate that you do not yet fully understand what it means to be undead." Quelaag said. "Keep well alive, and you need not worry. For now, I shall grant you the mercy of partial knowledge. The full truth is too great a burden for many.

Your kind feels pain, but not too deeply as to hinder your fighting – not usually. Death erases this pain, and you awaken in the fullness of health. You do not panic when this happens, though you are plucked quite suddenly from mortal combat. Revival from Flame restores mind as much as body, so that it does not fray from the shock.

No death means no restoration. Lexion remains at the height of panic. Yet I think I know the balm for this. You have seen the cleric do it before, have you not?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Discipline himself. The shock may well restore his senses."

"Oh."

Oscar's lips smacked, but words didn't come. Quelaag approached the huddled deacon and leaned over him. Carefully so as not to disturb him, she unfastened the lash from his belt. She put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Lexion."

"Oh Goddess…"

"No. Quiet. Listen to me."

"Goddess, no, not again…"

"Lexion," Quelaag repeated, digging her nails into his skin through the worn robe. "Lexion, listen to me. To _me_. The _Morivelca_ Beryf is not here. I am _Quelaag Rochim-_ no. I am by birth _Quelaag Queliel,_ daughter of _Lithiel_ , daughter of _Lith_ , son of _Boda_ , grandfather of _Fion Gwân,_ called _Gwalch y Gwyn_. I am goddess before I am demon. Hear me and obey."

The cleric looked up slowly. More than pale, his skin was beginning to bleach around his unnaturally purple left eye. A lock of silver hair had turned raven-black.

"Good, that is a faithful cleric," Quelaag continued, focus keen. "You have disgraced yourself before the enemies of the gods. More importantly, you have disgraced me. You must be disciplined for that. Do you understand?"

"Wh-what?"

Quelaag took the end of the lash and snapped the leather taut.

"Answer this goddess yes or no, deacon. You are deserving of punishment?"

"I- yes."

She released her grip on him and flicked the lash's black iron studs across his back. They rolled off the old cloth and shredded leather without breaking the skin.

"That was nothing to an experienced acolyte such as yourself, was it?"

"N-no."

"You are still in need of punishment?"

"Yes."

The second stroke was merciless but swift. Lex crumpled, and blood trickled down his back.

"We are about to face what remains of _Izalith Balan_. Are you strong enough?"

"Yes."

"I ask again, are you strong enough to face a Lord, the Witch of Izalith? The flames of her daughters have already shamed you twice. Is your devotion stronger than the specter of fear which haunts you? Will you march through flames if a goddess demands it?"

"Ye-No-I…"

"Focus, Lexion!"

Quelaag struck him again. Already hunched over the ground, there was no room for the cleric to give. It was the ultimate gesture of submission and repentance in the Cathedral. Wielding one's own scourge meant that the stroke could only swing so far, and the wounds were limited. Accordingly, some punishments called for lashes to be given by a more senior cleric.

On special occasions, the Archbishop himself would lead great ceremonies of repentance, striking one sinner after another until their blood pooled over the Cathedral floor. The guilty would spend hours wiping the blood away with their sin, before it could stain the stones of the floor and their souls. This was no Archbishop. Fallen or not, the deacon was receiving punishment from a goddess, blood kin of Great Lord Gwyn.

"Yes!" Lex gasped, squirming.

He stared at the flecks of unworthy blood on his hands and looked up. First, there was the terrible face of the deformed spider demon. Yet above that, there was indeed a goddess, not wrapped in a solar halo but in the red glow of ichorous earth.

"Are you in your right mind now, deacon?"

"Yes."

"I have saved you when your mistress was nowhere to be found, have I not?"

"Yes."

"I will become a greater being after all this is through. The birth of a new Lord. Will you serve me as _Quelaag Balan_ in place of the treacherous _Bereth_?"

Oscar nearly drew his sword but looked to Lex.

"No."

"Say your reasons, deacon."

"My mind is clear as the Deep, thanks to you. I owe you… something. But I'm a heretic; not an oathbreaker. I am the Prophet of Berenike, and I won't seduced by a demon, no matter what sort of burning sensation she gives me!"

Quelaag scowled.

"Get up. We are done here."

She dropped the scourge on his back, causing him to wince again. He gingerly removed it, strapped it back onto his belt, and staggered to his feet. He curled his toes in his boots as he resisted the urge to wipe the blood from the street.

"Lex," Oscar started, "are you in any condition to fight like that?"

"Yeah, that's what healing spells are for."

"We are all a little worse for wear," Solaire said.

Quelaag held an orb of golden flame in her hand. She took a breath and blew the wisp into the air. It floated among the humans for a moment, then pulsed and rang out like a miracle. A wave of heat passed over them, and a tingling warmth filled their bodies. The burns from the firestorm smoothed out, and the wounds over Lex's back began to close.

"Preserve your strength, Lexion. My magics will do little against their very source. Focus on wielding that wicked spell of _Morivelca_ 's malice. I can close wounds if need be. Life was the true purpose of Chaos, after all."

Lex nodded. Oscar turned to the witch. His hand was still on his sword, but his stance had relaxed.

"Before we move on, is there anything more we should know? It is standard strategy to charge at a magic user before they may cast, but it cannot be so simple to undo a Lord."

Quelaag knit her brows.

"I fear I have no intelligence regarding the Witch's current state. Information did not easily leave the Firesage's court. My Servants could infiltrate the city if the opportunity presented itself, but they could not risk traveling even this close to the Flame of Chaos without losing their selves."

She took a deep breath.

"Regardless of what we may encounter, fear it not as the Witch of Izalith. Not even for a moment. It may be her corporeal remains or may possess much of her might, but it is a mere specter. Think not of Gwyn's Lordship of knightly strength – a witch is made by her wit. Whatever we may face lacks the cleverness which earned Flame. Think this creature only a cornered beast, like the dragons made mortal."

"You have quite the confidence in us, Lady Quelaag!" Solaire said.

"You would not think it flattery if you knew how many knights even a cornered dragon could slay. If there are no further inquiries, we must hurry. I have little doubt Kirk's strength has expired by now. Two legs are no match for eight, but my sister or some fool demon will find us afore long."

The three men agreed, and she led them from the alley to a broad street. To the side, they could see over the descending outer rings of the metropolis. The sheer scale of a Lord's creations was astounding. If this was the work of the reclusive Witch of Izalith, how grand were the works of Great Lord Gwyn?

More of the hideous many-eyed demons skittered away as the group took hasty strides down the center of the road. The creatures moaned and hooted as if to sound an alarm, but the intruders were already too far inside the city. Quelaag wheeled around at a crossroads and thundered down a massive stairway. Only, she skidded to a stop abruptly while the humans caught up.

"What is this?" she hissed.

Ahead, she could still see the old passage. Lex too, could see it, having glimpsed the full city at the height of its power. There had been a door sized for a Lord there, at the end of a short walkway which had insulated the outer city from the Witch's inner sanctum. The walkway was gone, and in its place was a tunnel of some sort. The upper half of the old door could still be seen above it, bricked up.

As the prophet's eyes scanned the stones, he noticed the change in decoration. The original city celebrated the Witch. He saw blossoms with eight petals like tiny suns; he saw a grand loom which wove vines like the threads of men's lives. On the new tunnel, he saw what he had seen in the Firesage's chamber – fire and still more fire; men like beasts; and a figure sacrificed to the parasitic seeds of Chaos.

Lex risked a short vision and traced the tunnel downward. It was a one-way trip. The tunnel held only a ramp of smooth stone which would dump them in a circular chamber with no other exits. It was possible for Quelaag to escape, but the humans would be trapped. His mind flashed back to the Undead Asylum. How appropriate that the Firesage would use a killing pit just as one of his own kind had been used in one.

"Quelaag, this is the only way in or out. Can you leave a thread for us? I'd hate for you to have to carry us out of danger again."

"I will do so, if you insist. A battle with no escape is hardly more than we expected when we committed to this venture. What else do you see?"

"I see spires of some sort around the chamber. Evenly-spaced but not the same height."

"Focal mausoleums. Luminaries were entombed so as to serve Izalith even in death. Give me more."

"I see a shattered throne. How large-? Exactly how tall was the Wit-?"

Lex yelped and clutched his eye as a terrible, burning thing leered at him.

"What did you see?"

"Well, I can see how much you care at least," the prophet said, rubbing the glare out of his eye. "I don't know what it is. Big, scary, like a singular blob of hate staring back at me. I couldn't make anything out. Some sort of fiery shadow."

"Then there is no change. We will descend to hunt the hateful beast."

The witch set one foot through a wall of soul fog and into the tunnel, scarcely large enough for her demon body. She reached for the end of her thorax with a spindly leg and fixed a thread to the top of the passage, just outside the fog. With it in place, she charged down the ramp, legs sticking easily to even its smooth surface.

The humans looked at one another.

"We're really doing this," Oscar said. "We're going to kill a Lord. The Mother of Demons."

"It is a tremendous burden, but we will righting a great wrong," Solaire added.

"Blessings of all the gods, silver and black, be with us," Lex said. "Now, race you down!"

Before the others could react, he jumped through the fog and began sliding down on the worn soles of his boots.

"You cheater!" Solaire shouted, laughing as he followed after with sparks on his iron heels.

Oscar just sighed and sat down on the ramp, one hand hovering above Quelaag's thread in case he needed to stop suddenly.

The witch was first into the chamber, of course, but Lex had nearly caught her with his breakneck speed. Quelaag clambered onto the wall beside the tunnel's exit just as the cleric shot out and tumbled some distance to the floor.

Before him was something great and terrible. How many men would need to stand on each other's shoulders to match the height of that throne? Eight at least, surely. How much larger was the Witch of Izalith when she stood? He feared he would soon find the answer.

In that ancient stone throne huddled a withered, slumping creature like a willow ruined by drought. It was shaped like the gods or the men made in their image, save a handful of drastic departures. While the whole of the chamber was filled with dead roots of Chaos, a great deal of them billowed from the wretched thing's waist like a gown. It had four arms, two draped upon the throne's armrests and the other two stretched across its top like creeping vines. Each unnaturally long finger frayed into countless intersecting roots.

The thing's face was concealed by thick tendrils which seemed more like the legs of an insect than the branches of a tree. Quelaag's hair was made of grasping roots, but these limbs scarcely resembled hair any longer. Still, four true insect limbs sprouted from behind the creature's head to show the locks had not yet fully transformed. Among the limbs buzzed a pair of impotently small wings.

On either side of the throne lay an orb of spinning Chaos energy. Flowing runes spat off the edges like tongues of flame as they whirled. Each orb seemed to bind a thick net of roots and was bound in turn by a peculiar vine. These vines burned red-hot and tied the orbs to a pair of stone trees rooted in the sides of the chamber, both long dead. The trees were pitted like the roots of the archtree which had tried to drink from the poison swamp beneath Blighttown.

Lex was snapped back to attention by Solaire thundering to the floor next to him.

"Is that all that is left of the Witch of Izalith? I can't help but feel sorry for her."

"Let me see…"

Before Lex could focus his eye, the thing leaned forward in the throne.

"H-h-h-"

A thin voice like the buzzing of insect wings or the rustling of branches just barely eked out from the dead wood.

"H-hê-hên-"

Solaire raised his shield as roots began to snap. One of the thing's hands tore free of the throne and reached forward. The two men tensed, but the arm continued raising until it was extended to Quelaag, fingers stretched as far as they would go.

" _Hênen_ ," it said at last. "M-my child."

The wretched wood gave up a mournful shriek, and more roots snapped as it tried to wrench itself free.

"Quelaag! Quelaag? What's the plan?" Lex shouted.

"Did I stutter?" the witch barked. "That is cast-off shell! Even if this husk is truly what remains of the Witch of Izalith, the part which was my mother is long departed!"

A low-pitch buzzing began, but it quickly evolved into a terrible whine. Just as Oscar at last descended the end of Quelaag's thread to the floor, the sound broke into a sob.

"Lady Quelaag," Solaire said, "I believe you owe your mother an apology."

"Warrior of Sunlight," Quelaag growled, her fury growing with every word, "if any part of my mother were still alive in that wretched shell, she would have slit her own throat sooner than let a pompous bureaucrat use her lingering power to turn Izalith into _this_! No longer a lamp to guide the wise, it is used as the very definition of _suffering_ , _corruption_ , and _wickedness_! With the failing of my _cowardly_ eldest sister, it falls to me as the second to redeem our name! Mark my words, knight! I will drown this city in magma before I let it continue to be misused as such!"

The monstrosity gave up a keening wail that rattled the knights' armor.

" _L-Laageg_!"

"For the pride of Izalith," Quelaag said, pointing her sword at the thing in the throne, "I will hang you from your own branches!"

The tree creature shook as if by a gale and shrieked like the damned. It dragged itself forward even as its own roots snapped seven-thousand, seven hundred, and seventy-seven times over. It fell from the throne, but its gown was too deeply rooted to pull free. With a blind swipe of two hands, the three humans were thrown to the wall.

"Useless," Quelaag hissed.

She sprung from the wall in a flash of flame. The weight of her demon body drove her saber forward, arcing through the air like a falling star. The tree-thing screamed ever louder as the blade tore a gash through one of its arms.

"Fire and brimstone," Quelaag muttered. "I never thought I should want for a Knight's aid. Their absurdly heavy blades would make short work of this failure."

She landed on the throne itself and leaped to the wall before the tree could turn to her. The mutant cavalrywoman cantered along the side of the chamber as she waited for another opportunity to charge.

" _Laageg!_ " the thing moaned.

"Would you let it rest?" Quelaag sighed. "A _crow_ can mimic speech. Something that is even less than a hollow pygmy cannot shake me."

The stone wall exploded as the witch shot across the chamber. Though she carved another wound into the creature's wooden flesh, it didn't seem to notice. The monster uselessly crawled after Quelaag, the roots on its long fingertips just barely scraping the bottom of the round wall. While it was distracted, the three humans hid behind one of the "focal mausoleums."

The creature was hideous to watch, a mockery of natural life and truest proof that demons were deformed abominations. It crawled on its four hands like a beast, yet the four insect legs on its back undulated as if they could reach the ground. The pair of fly's wings buzzed at random. The demon was bound to the Witch's throne by the roots of its gown, making it no more threatening than a chained hound now that the men were beyond its reach.

"I wonder why that greedy fool of a 'sage' never slew you to take the Flame for himself," Quelaag said as she lined up a third charge. "Surely, his fat body could have withstood the feeble attempts you put up for defense."

"Quelaag, what are we doing here?" Lex said. "It looks like this is going to take hours. I mean, it's not like I haven't groomed the grounds of the Cathedral before, but this is weed-killing on a whole 'nother level."

"Nevermind that, Lex," Oscar interrupted. "Lady Quelaag, what about your sister?"

The voices distracted the creature, so Quelaag took the opportunity to take another slice. As it turned back to her, she thundered across the chamber floor to join the humans. Though the spider demon galloped as swiftly as a horse, it stopped immediately upon reaching them instead of skittering on the stone.

"This half-formed thing yet possesses the Witch of Izalith's soul and power. Its soul fog will protect us from attack. Should that traitor endeavor to chase us, she would find herself alone with only the abomination for company. You do not believe that I was so mighty as to face the teeming hordes of undead who sought my lair in the early days, do you? Each poor soul on their own quest – I fought them all alone and without the wounds of prior battles.

A soul is like a dream, and a mighty soul commands the dreams of others. Even faded as I am, I was a nightmare to each who sought the Bell. No matter how long it may take to slay this creature, its own soul will protect us from pursuers."

"You speak as if victory is guaranteed," Oscar said.

"Is it not? This 'battle' is a massacre conducted at a snail's pace."

"Oh gods, all those snails fighting knights drawn in the margins of those books makes sense now."

Oscar groaned.

"I thought I had forgotten those. What is it about Carim's Way of White that would possess monks to illustrate such nonsense?"

"Hey. At least we don't _eat_ snails, Astoran. Seriously, though, they represent-"

"Are you fools going to aid me in this battle or merely prattle on about bottom-feeders?"

Lex laughed uneasily, and Oscar sighed again.

"Lady Quelaag," Solaire said, pointing, "what of those glowing orbs? Are they not some source of power? I can feel them from here. It's like insects crawling through my armor! But they also seem to radiate a terrible sadness. It is almost like a sad version of the sun."

Quelaag's lip curled up darkly.

"They are quite unlike the sun. They are seals made from my sisters' souls. The trees which bind the seals are what remains of my sisters' bodies. The staves betwixt them are unmistakable, branches of an archtree our mother cultivated. There are but seven like them. Two, you see before you. I cast mine aside how long ago?"

She took a shallow breath.

"It matters not. Two of my sisters died to seal this creature. Thank them in your prayers for making this battle a simple matter."

"No," Lex said, eyes distant.

"What did you just say, Lexion?"

"It's not that simple," he continued. "Can't you feel it? _That_ 's not the Lord. Not anymore."

"Nonsense! I can feel the heat of Flame from here!"

"No, you're feeling it alright. From inside the tree. Trees are hollow, you know?"

"Of course they are, but that is-! No. It couldn't be."

"What is it?" Oscar said. "Care to include those of us who haven't seen ancient history firsthand?"

"That's the worst part," Lex said quietly. "It's not history; it's biology. Isn't it, Quelaag?"

"Do _not_ say what I know you will," the witch hissed. "Will you fight or not?"

The cleric took a deep breath.

"This is pretty fucked. Maybe you should have brought Kirk."

"Kirk knows there are more important things than clean hands!"

"I… Is there no other option? You're its- It could… learn, maybe."

"I am no sage. I am a warrior and a witch, either hand red with blood. It is only another sacrifice. Even your Lord Gwyn would- What are you doing?"

The two knights stood on either side of Lex, shields raised.

"I'm sorry about this, Lady Quelaag," Solaire said.

"Lex," Oscar said. "What is the demon witch hiding?"

"Just think for a minute."

"Lexion," Quelaag growled, "if you continue, I swear I will-"

"That thing is what's left of the Witch of Izalith. If the Lord Soul is inside the Witch's body but not a part of her…"

Quelaag tried to grab the deacon, but Oscar elbowed him out of the way.

"Well, why would a second soul be inside a woman to begin with?"

"A child…" Solaire whispered.

"A parasite!" Quelaag growled. "We would have known if it were a child! You think the Daughters of Chaos are so divorced from the forces of life?"

"No," Oscar said. "You would have told us if you knew. You are just as surprised and uncertain as Lex is."

"I did not wish you to know because it was certain to test your resolve! Even if it is a child, it is my blood kin. The sin of kinslaying shall be mine, and it is hardly a blacker sacrifice than the _Filianore Araniel_."

Lex went stiff.

"Ah, a sin. A _sin_. Is that why I'm here?"

He looked at the creature as it helplessly tried to reach them. In his right eye, he saw only the disgusting thing that moved on four hands and four too-short spider legs. In his left, though, he saw the ancient Witch, stretched unnaturally from her throne, eyes vacant. The light in her was gone, and her mouth hung open vacantly.

Not a hollow. A broken, living, person.

"I'll do it," he said. "Oscar, Solaire, stay out of it. Knights shouldn't dirty their hands."

"What?" Oscar said, not taking his eyes off Quelaag.

Solaire didn't have the same worries. He immediately sheathed his sword and turned to the cleric.

"You can't serious, Lex! If there's even a chance that it is-!

"It doesn't matter. Anything that does this to its parent is a monster. What good is it to serve the Goddess of Sin if one never sins?"

Quelaag looked at him knowingly.

"You're beginning to see things as Kirk did. Just do not carry it too far."

Oscar sighed.

"If we were to stand by and let you do this, we would be just as complicit. You think I haven't been tricked like this before? That my peers didn't just tell me to stand aside while they slew or had their way with enemy civilians?"

The knight took a long breath.

"This is no civilian. Even if it is a child, it is a mad demon. This is no different than slaying wolf cubs. Harming a dog pup would be a crime, but the wolf is excused for its wildness and danger. I will help you as best I am able. Solaire?"

"This is… this is too much for me. Lady Quelaag, how could you consider… your sibling?"

A bitter smile cracked on the demon's lips.

"Have you forgotten that my treacherous elder sister attacked us a short while ago? A witch must rule her own self. Every time, I will choose what Izalith was meant to be, no matter what I must destroy. This city can save those who are worthy – or it can continue to spit out stupid demons who hunt your kind for sport. Will you truly object to slaying some parasite if it is all which stands between my people and salvation?"

"But it is your-"

"Would the God of War hesitate?"

Solaire recoiled as if struck.

"Your master did not turn his face from the dragons. Make no mistake. What we did was genocide. The dragons were not beasts; they were wiser and cleverer than any of us. We slew them all because they were so dangerous we could not risk leaving but one. This is much the same. Would you allow such a monstrous demon to continue living beneath Lordran? Would you allow it grow in power and wicked intellect?"

The holy warrior's uncovered hands were clenched, knuckles white.

"No. This is not what the Lord of Sunlight would wish. I am certain."

"Oh, you know him better than I? A Daughter of Chaos? A warrior who slew dragons with him?"

Solaire gently unwound the cord around his talisman. It was but a piece of extra cloth from his tabard. Like the tabard and his shield, the talisman had a crude, handmade drawing of the sun covering most of its surface.

"Yes," he said quietly. "That is what faith is about, isn't it? The Lord of Sunlight may have done as you said, but I cannot believe that he would be so heartless. I don't believe that you are either."

"Call it what you wish, but it must be done. If you will not help, then-"

The creature gave up a horrid wail as it tried to stretch its roots far enough to reach the group.

"Do you mind?" Quelaag hissed as she turned about. "We are trying to have a discussion, as if your tasteless howling of my name weren't enough."

The witch dragged her long nails along her sword with a shriek.

"Lexion, Oscar, you understand our objective, do you not? That cast-off shell is bound to the throne. The parasite must be there. Lexion, can you see more closely?"

"I tried, but it's too powerful. I'm worried I'll go blind if I keep staring at it. Though to be fair, they also said that about touching myself. I'll tell you when I see something."

"So be it. Stay clear of the arms, and-"

"Lady Quelaag!"

Solaire stood in front of her, arms wide.

"Please! If even the monstrous Firesage didn't slay the creature, why must you?"

Quelaag smiled with all her countless teeth.

"You try my patience, Warrior of Sunlight. This is the last of my goodwill for your order. Stand aside."

"You won't even try to learn-?"

"Seven."

"-if the creature is-"

"Six."

"-your sibling?"

"Five."

Solaire puffed up his chest and raised his arms, forming the solar sign.

"Four."

As Quelaag tightened her grip on her sword, Oscar walked around to Solaire's side, sword and shield ready.

"Three."

"Come on!" Lex said, stepping between the three.

"Two."

"There's no need for this!" he continued. "We can think of something else! Quelaag!

"One."

"Oh, Goddess, you're serious!"

Flames surged from the demon's blade. Lex started to duck, and Quelaag kicked him free of the swing. The burning razor passed through Solaire's thin iron mail like paper. It clanged against Oscar's enchanted shield, but the burning aura still surged around the sides and blasted the knight to the ground.

"By Flann-! Solaire!" Lex yelled.

The knight chuckled faintly. His skin was lightly burnt from the flame, but the blade itself had not cut him.

"You see, Lady Quelaag? You aren't half as heartless as you pretend."

The witch fumed but said nothing.

"You demon!" Oscar coughed, struggling to find his feet.

Quelaag snorted.

"Yes, Knight Oscar, your eyes yet still see."

She took a deep breath and thrust her sword into the floor.

"So be it, sun-sworn. I yield. I will seek to control the parasite instead of slaying it for its soul. At least until I have conferred with my younger sister and faithful brother."

Solaire only chuckled exhaustedly and collapsed.

"Ah, forgive me. I seem to be a little woozy."

Oscar rose to kneeling. He gave a cautionary look to Quelaag before leaning over to examine the charred tear through the other knight's chest.

"Solaire, please don't take such risks. You think too highly of people."

"Some estus will patch me right up. The same cannot be said for a demon."

"McLoyf's sagging mantits, I'm going to be sick," Lex groaned as he looked at Solaire's blistering flesh between his fingers. "Just point me in the right direction, and I'll fire off the healing."

"No need," Quelaag said. "That so-called sage could scarcely grasp the usage of this Kiln. If this cast-off shell or the parasite within does not stop me, I will begin heating it. Shattered as it is, it will hardly stave off an Age of Dark, but it should at least serve as a Firelink Shrine. Well, it is not bound to the other bonfires, of course."

She approached the tree-thing with palms upright as if in supplication.

" _Laageg_ ," it moaned, its voice breaking.

"Yes, I have a use for you yet. Even as a shell, the worm holes and secret paths are graven in your flesh. Whatever scrap of my mother still exists in you, grant me the inheritance of a witch. Grant me the true _Izalith_. Teach me the lore of Sand and Ash my grandfather discovered."

Curious, Lex took a few steps after Quelaag, focusing his vision. The horrible, shining thing beneath the throne still writhed uneasily, but it had quieted somewhat. The prophet shadowed his eyes with a hand, as if blocking the sun would help with the glare underground. He sighed and squinted as he neared. Surprisingly, the hazy soul-shapes he saw in his left eye actually became clearer as he did so.

The cleric could just barely make out the last wisp of a Flame within the tree-creature. He swallowed. In spite of everything Quelaag had said, the monster really was the Witch of Izalith. The Witch's soul stirred as her Daughter approached. The roots shifted and churned the stone floor as a small amount of power backflowed from the parasite below. The warm glow raced through some strange pattern and into the tree-thing's upper-right hand.

Lex could see it with his regular eye now, a gentle fire congealing in the monster's palm. He had seen this only in illustrations before: a pyromancy flame. Quelaag reached out to take it in both hands but immediately started screaming. Lex shook himself out of his trance. He hazarded a quick look backward – Solaire and Oscar were too far away and too injured to do anything, even if they still wanted to help Quelaag.

The cleric started forward, but as he did, the whole chamber shook. Even without his prophetic vision, he could feel the stolen soul of the Witch roaring with exertion.

"Quelaag, whatever you're doing, stop it!"

She didn't reply, but from the way her screaming got deeper, Lex assumed he only made her angry. He sighed, then took a deep breath.

"Goddess, give me wings."

Without hesitation, he broke into a dead sprint for the center of the chamber. As he raced over the stones, small roots began burrowing between the bricks. The floor splintered as the roots erupted, writhing like severed fingers. The roots spread with wild abandon, and the deacon soon had to watch his step. Only, they didn't stop rising. As they poured up through the floor, more and more of it was displaced.

Random stones were shot into the air by the pressure of the twisting vines. Some whole segments of floor rose to his knees or higher on the backs of the roots. Other fragments simply crumbled away and fell into an unseen void below. As Lex's feet began to rise beneath him, he grabbed hold of a twisting vine to catch his breath.

"Quelaag!"

The deacon faintly remembered that spiders breathed from a hole in their underbelly. That might have been how the witch was still screaming after several seconds.

"Quelaag, what's the plan? Quelaag? I swear to Gwyn, the next time we do something, everyone is going to have a plan!"

The root Lex was holding had begun to grow hot, so he let himself down gently. He was running out of room to stand. Turning around, there was no guarantee that the edge of the chamber would be safe unless he reached Quelaag's thread and the entry tunnel. He was close to Quelaag now – just a few seconds of breakneck dashing over a collapsing floor. Even if he couldn't wake up the witch, he might be able to hold onto the tree-creature.

"Okay, Goddess, actual, literal, non-figurative wings would be really helpful right now."

Lex hopped over a large root and began half-sprinting, half-skipping over the uneven floor and roots. After a few terrifying moments, he found himself safely beside the demon, who could apparently scream forever. Now that he was closer, though, he could see her palms had been charred black. That was probably enough to make anybody scream.

"Quelaag, is there anything I can-?"

The floor fell out from under him. Now, it was his turn to scream. Fortunately, it was short-lived, as he struck a large root. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he would survive. Only, as the rising root took him back up, he felt something. The hair prickled on the back of his neck.

The root shuddered, and before he could find his grip, it slid out from under him. Desperately, he reached out and grabbed hold of a branch with one hand. In spite of tearing the skin on his palm, he held on as tightly as his weak arms would allow. Fortunately, it was the hand which had long practiced a firm grasp. As he reached for the branch with his other arm, the wood began to heat. Within seconds, it was too hot to hold.

"Oh, Goddess, I'm serious, this time! Lady Berenike! I know birds push their young out of the nest so they can learn to fly, but this is ridiculous!"

At last, he let go and fell into the shadows amongst the stone roots. They all subtly twisted out of his way so that none would break his fall. At least this death would be instant, as stupid as it was. Lex relaxed a little and tried to appreciate the air rushing around him. Morbidly curious, he used his left eye to gaze down into the dark tunnel beneath the city. Sure enough, he was close to reaching the bottom, but that wasn't-

He let out a final scream as a perfectly vertical thorn drove into his eye.


	22. In Your Eyes

The thing awoke with a start. It had dreamed of being a tiny sea-beast, a mote in a midnight sea, but now what was he? He looked at his hands. There were neither scales nor long, predatory talons. His wet, pale, flesh had shriveled like jerky now that it was dry yet still so full of salt. He was clothed in robes of white and silver which resembled his previous, aquatic appearance, and that calmed him a little.

The creature looked around. He remembered this room, in the heights of the tower with the Light. He remembered the child whose little finger was larger than his whole body. What was the word for such creatures again? Not giant, but…

"You're back!"

The excited whisper nearly drove him deaf purely from the size of the voice. Across the small room, the child hid something behind its- behind her back. She conspicuously tucked something beneath her silvery bedsheets and bounded to the table where she had left the creature amongst wooden dolls in robes like the ones he wore. Their faces were hidden by a sort of hood with a silver visor, and the last doll wore only the hood.

It seemed that there had been a great number of the dolls at one time, part of some set. There were a few dozen of the hooded figures and a handful of unique ones. Only two of the latter were still intact, the others broken in increasingly unlikely ways – shattered or cut in half or burned. Of the remaining, one held a bow, the other a bell.

He rose to face the… what was it, again? The child what?

"I thought you would never fall asleep again! I cannot remember the last time I had a new guest! I still see the Lords when they come to ask favors, but I have rarely seen them since the Fire has grown so dim! Come, let us talk! How are things outside?"

The creature struggled to remember how to speak. Not so long ago, his teeth had been razors meant only for tearing. He clicked the flat surfaces together.

"You're quiet! You have eaten of my garden. You should be able to speak now. Do not be afraid! Or is there something on your mind?"

The child stared down at him.

"Oh, there is! What is it? Is that sign…?"

The pygmy clutched his forehead. There was a throbbing pain as his hand ran over scarred flesh. Memories flooded through his mind, and the brand began to burn red-hot, the sign of three talons grasping an eye.

"Goddess!" he screamed.

Black feathers drifted through his every thought as layers of illusion burned away. He remembered the sea, the endless sea of humanity from which his soul had come. Yet he also found his name in the sunlit world. His head nearly split in two as it reconciled the layers.

"Are you well?" the goddess said. "I may have some herbs which could mend your mind."

Lex's eyes boggled. Eye. One was missing. He clutched at the right side of his face.

"Oh!" the goddess said. "I didn't notice while you were awake! Did _Emelon_ take your eye? You must have done something naughty!"

"No, I-"

His death came back in a flash.

"I was in Izalith… outside. I fell, and a thorn took out my eye… and my brain, I guess."

The child goddess giggled.

"We're the same! I fell asleep when I touched one of Izalith's thorns too! Though I don't think I lost my brain! _Adar_ says I can't wake up until morning. He says _Muinthelon_ will fetch us, come dawn. He goes out into the rain to look for her sometimes, I think. It will be very hard to see the sun in this weather, even for him. And he has very good eyes! Though not as good as mine!"

Her eyes glistened in the candlelight, right red and left blue. There was something vaguely unsettling about them. They weren't shaped quite right.

"Well, I guess it has to be at least twice as good as mine," Lex said, pointing to his injury.

"A joke? Truly? It has been so long!"

The goddess laughed.

"Your Lords are always so serious. Knights this or Curse that! It's no wonder they lost all their hair!"

She drew her own trailing, black hair back with one hand and hunched over, squinting as if aged. Only, as she spoke, her gown sparkled, and she took on the shape of a withered hag.

" _Dear Lady, the swamp is getting deeper!_ " she mocked. _"Dear Lady, the giants won't listen to us anymore because we're so nasty to everyone! Dear Lady, Frampt smells too bad!_"

The years rolled back as the goddess straightened her posture, and in the space of a moment, shimmering motes of gold made her young again.

"Then they have the nerve to say they won't tell me things because _I'm_ a child! I'm not the one always crying about things!"

Something nagged at Lex. He almost felt like that transformation was strange, but the thought grew fainter and fainter as he began to speak.

"Oh man, the gods have to deal with that too?" he sighed, strangeness forgotten. "The older priests always made everything into the end of the world. And now the world really is ending, and where are they? _Hollow_."

"Hollow? They have absconded to the ruins of the archtrees? That is terribly irresponsible! You may relieve them of the duties they hate so much in my name! The clergy are meant to guide humans by example! Like a game of Ornstein Orders, except you're not supposed to make the other players mess up. Which makes it Artorias… Asks… Kindly? I can't think of another A-word."

"Amicably, my lady."

"Yes! Thank you! Artorias Asks Amicably! I can't believe they would abandon their posts like that! There's nothing left in the archtrees. They must be mistaken about something."

"No, Lady… Um. Huh. Please forgive me, my Lady, I can't seem to remember you from any of the canonical scriptures. Are you a goddess of the Black Rites?"

"You can't remember me? But I- What are the Black Rites?"

"Maybe you know the schism by a different name? Allfather Lloyd cast some gods from the Way of White, but they still consider themselves a part of it. The Allfather's rites are called Silver, for the white-winged knights who guard the gods. The traditions of the other gods came to be known as the Black Rites, for the black-winged knights who serve no master now that Lord Gwyn has passed."

"Passed? Passed what?"

Lex paused a moment while he searched for the easiest way to explain death to an innocent immortal.

"Um. Uh. Well, he sacrificed himself to the Flame. For all of us."

"Oh. Yes, that makes sense," the goddess said, nodding in spite of her unsure tone. "Very brave. Don't you agree?"

Lex blinked.

"Yes."

The deity looked contemplative for a moment, but then puffed out her cheeks.

"Who is this Lloyd, anyway? _Hanar_ should be Allfather! Why is a stranger splitting us apart after all the work _Emelon_ did to bring everyone together?"

Lex was trying to take notes under his breath.

"Let's see, the eye thing and unification, so _Emelon_ is Velka, and…"

"Oh!" the goddess said, abruptly, looking right at him. "I am a terrible host! I didn't mean to avoid introducing myself! I am _Lían Merilîg Arimîdh Araniel._ Or Caffrey! It's funny how someone says something wrong, and it gets worse each time someone else hears it. Your Lords call me by another title too, but I can never remember it once they leave. It must not be _too_ important."

Lex took a dramatic, sweeping bow.

"I am Prophet Lexion. I served the Way of White as a deacon at the Cathedral of the Deep in Carim until recently. I investigated the Black Rites too, ahem, deeply and was _cleansed_ in fire. As an undead, I was saved by Her Highness Bereni- Beryf and given the power of prophecy. I then began the Undead Pilgrimage to Lordran and only recently arrived, after having been imprisoned in the Undead Asylum for… some time."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, _Lestion_ ," the goddess said, panicking, "but you're talking too fast! I only know a few of those names! I'm not clever like _Hanar_!"

"Oh," Lex said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I guess only speaking with Lady Beryf has set my standards for a deity pretty high."

"The fault is mine," the goddess said, huffing with pride. " _Adar_ says that it's everyone's duty to shepherd the humans. Especially mine."

"'Shepherd the humans,' huh?" Lex whispered. "So Adar is quoting Lord Gwyn. He 'goes out in the rain sometimes,' so he's in this tower…"

" _Lestion_ , is something the matter?"

"Ah? No, I was just thinking. What do you want to know about the outside, Goddess? I live to serve."

"You said 'undead' a lot. What is that? Has something happened to Lord Nito?"

"The Gravelord? I don't know. I suppose that could explain it. When I was, well, naked, did you see a black spot on my back, ringed with fire?"

"I did. I have seen it grow on the backs of your Lords too. Is it catching? I'm not as strong a healer as _Muinthelon_ , but I will do my best."

"No, it's fine. It's not a disease; it's a curse, the Curse you've heard about, no doubt. Each time a human dies, we are reborn from a bonfire, though our bodies rot a little with each death. By consuming the raw essence of humanity, we're able to recover from even that, but of course, it's not exactly easy to come across raw humanity. Saints and maidens have a bit more luck, there. And… criminals who are… willing to take it."

The goddess opened her mouth to speak but failed to find the words. She knit her brows and blinked. Only after a moment to collect herself did she respond.

"Are you dying that much? What has happened? Are your Lords not keeping Courland peaceful? They've not told me anything!"

Now, it was Lex's turn to be taken aback.

"Courland?"

Where was that again? It was on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed the thought and continued anyway.

"My lady, nowhere is safe. The Fire fades, and the Dark within us begins to rise. Those of us who have died too many times go mad and attack others to feast on their humanity. I have heard that the hunger can even begin in those who are still sane but have been undead too long.

Over the last century, kingdoms have fallen one by one. Those that are left have confidence in their quarantines and their soldiery. The undead are corralled and driven to the Undead Asylum atop Havel's Teeth at the northern edge of Carim. But it's not enough. Astora, land of knights – no one would have thought it would fall, yet my companion was there when the serfs rose against their rulers. Even when there are no undead, madness spreads.

I can't imagine how it would be if the Dark wasn't bound by Flame like it is, if it were to run free instead of being restrained and used up within undead. There's not even any way to stop undead, short of killing them again and again while consuming their souls. Those who have lost themselves completely, the hollows, live forever as feral beasts. I even met a knight who thought he would live forever as long as he was strong enough, but I don't know if that's true."

The goddess' face grew darker with each sentence. Lex had only seen such an expression on a child shortly before a tantrum. It was strange to see someone so young restraining such strong emotion. Something flickered in the girl's peculiar eyes. The pupils were wrong somehow.

"Your bodies rot?" she said. "You get all wrinkly and lose you hair? You dry up, and your eyes turn white? You didn't look like you do now before the Curse? You looked like a normal person before? Like me?"

"Yes, Goddess _Li- Lee- L-_ Caffrey. I was the best-looking deacon at the Cathedral, if I say so myself."

"Even the Lords, then. I watched it happen. I thought they were getting old and mean. I wondered why none of them retired and why no new Lords arrived. They never said _that_ was the Curse. They never said!"

"It's fine, my lady. You can't be expected to-"

"No, I should have! They didn't say, but I should have known! I need to have eyes like _Emelon_!"

Color was beginning to bleed into the whites of her eyes, red on gold and blue on silver. Lex's empty eye socket throbbed in sympathy. The brand on his forehead shone with a ruddy light.

"Please, _Lestion_ , be my eye outside!"

Lex grit his teeth against the pain before speaking.

"My Goddess Caffrey, I'm already sworn to-"

"Please!"

"I owe Goddess Beryf my life, such as it is. I could not possibly betray that favor. I can tell you what I've seen, but I will not break a sacred covenant."

The goddess started pouting. It might have been cute, if the enormous tears welling in her eyes didn't pose a risk of knocking out the pygmy and then drowning him. Before he could say anything else, something resounded far away, echoing like rolling thunder.

"You won't break it!"

There it was again, the deep crashing. And again.

"If you swear on my name, it will be a greater oath than even to _Emelon_!"

The primal fear of the black ocean overtook the pygmy. The thunder was footsteps.

"I can't give you much. I am not strong like _Emelon_."

Lex could feel the steps now. He was baffled that the goddess didn't react. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with one of her enormous sleeves.

"But I am Goddess of Fortune. Just a little, I can grant you the secret power of humans. Luck."

The door to the chamber burst open, and unbearable heat flooded into the small room.

" _ **Firion.**_ "

Smog dripped from its mouth like tar, blacker than midnight and twice as heavy. Gray ash peeked from beneath the crumbling surface of skin burnt to charcoal. A soot-filled beard limned with white hovered just above the floor like a tremendous humanity sprite. A pair of blind eyes roared with a heat too great for their body to bear, steadily cracking its skull.

The man, if it could be called that, was wrapped in funerary robes and singed armor. Yet in spite of the heat, the garments dripped black, brackish water of the sea. Hands twitched, and toes curled so fiercely as to peel the stone floor. In the creature's left hand was a long, thin spear of twisted red iron.

Lex's bestial instincts screamed. Not long ago, he had been a thing of the sea, and whatever that monster was, it was a fisherman. It was a fisherman of such stature that the goddess didn't quite reach its knee. Its body scarcely fit into the room and cast a long shadow over the low-burning candles. They flickered and paled from the monster's immense heat.

" _Adar!_ " the goddess said, turning. "We have a guest!"

" _ **Alfaron.**_ "

The titan reared its arm back, the rusted spear gleaming like a scabbing wound.

" _Aderig, baw!_ " the goddess yelled, waving her sleeves like flags.

The pouting tears had become fearful weeping.

" _ **Nîr?**_ "

The monster hesitated. It sighed, and Lex nearly collapsed from the heat and smog.

" _ **Úgarthor.**_ "

" _Iza. I firion garra certh Emelon._ "

The titan rumbled forward. It loomed over the table as near as it dared without setting the wood aflame through ambient heat. Unfortunately, the pygmy's wrinkled body had no water left to sweat. He barely maintained consciousness.

" _ **Firion.**_ "

"I'm sorry, but I don't speak-"

In place of the monster's body, the red-hot spear pressed dangerously close. The goddess stared at the titan fiercely. In the flickering of the heat haze, she almost seemed to grow in order to oppose the burning beast. Lex swallowed dry air.

When the titan spoke again, it seemed to speak more formally.

" _ **Firé. A. Ruc. Velcallo.**_ "

"What about Goddess Velka?"

The monster turned.

" _ **A. Cesya**_."

"Was that Goddess Caitha? I don't understand. Please, Goddess Caffrey, what-?"

The heat had gotten to him more than he had realized. The tension flowed out of him, and his legs felt as if they were on the beach once more. His vision darkened, and one leg slipped out from under him.

" _Lestion_!"

The goddess reached for her planter and plucked the first fruit she could reach.

"You need to cool down! Hurry! Drink the juice!"

She frantically squeezed the fruit, causing a scarlet rain to pour on the fallen cleric. Of course, he choked as much as he swallowed. With each suffocating cough, his vision grew darker. He grabbed powerlessly at the table as the red stains spread across his white robe.

" _Lestion_! _Lestion_! Don't wake up! There's still so much I-"


	23. Joker and the Thief

**Author's Note:** There have been a few SotFS-style changes since the last chapter. As usual, check my profile to get a rundown on them.

The world seemed to rush in around Lex like a firestorm. Light overwhelmed his senses: a blinding, a burning, a shrieking. He tried to scream but gagged on the smell of burning flesh. Then the sensation was gone, and he lurched to his feet in a cold sweat.

Like always, he had emerged from the bonfire as if nothing had happened. His skin was a little drier and his vision a little hazier. He knew his hair would be slightly faded. Part of what made hollowing insidious was that the affliction snuck up on its victims. Still, hollowing of the body and hollowing of the mind were almost entirely independent. He could deal with being a little less pretty as long as he didn't let it shake his convictions.

The chamber around him was unfamiliar. As when he had first died, he found himself distantly removed from that peculiar concept of "home and hearth" which normally defined an undead's point of rebirth. When he had first died, he was whisked away from the Cathedral because he had never attuned to a bonfire. What power was there that could have severed his connection to the bonfire in Quelaag's fort?

The cleric found himself within a pit, dimly-lit from above. Worn engravings of woven vine covered the walls around him, but there was no other decoration. The sides of the chamber were sturdy stone, and while there was no ceiling, an overhang ringed the chamber. He was trapped in a pit from which there could be no escape unless a revived prisoner had been fortunate enough to carry a grappling hook.

Further, there was something different about the way things looked. Like he had tunnel vision. Wait, there was his nose, so–

His left eye was gone. His magical, Goddess-given left eye was gone. He vaguely remembered having it stabbed out by a root as he fell to his death. Had the blessing been damaged by mere physical trauma? Or rather, shouldn't the bonfire have regenerated his eye even without the blessing?

Lex began to focus on the darkness where his missing eye was, but his concentration was abruptly disrupted.

"Are you whole?"

Lex blinked.

The voice resonated from within bone, bare teeth clicking as they closed. The sound possessed a strange, lyrical quality and a refined accent which he couldn't quite place. Well, it wasn't that he remembered having heard the accent himself – even as a merchant's son, going beyond the neighboring parishes within Carim was a rare event. He remembered a written description of it from somewhere. Where was it, again?

"I say again – are you whole?"

Lex looked up and wondered if he was particularly suited for this life of heroism after all. A demon with a goat's skull for a face was speaking to him, but the first thought to cross his mind was about its accent.

"Well, I'm _in_ a hole."

He probably should have been more frightened. Above him was a fierce-looking goat-headed demon like the one he and Oscar had slain in the Undead Burg. Unlike that one, this demon was armed with a bow of twisting Chaos vine, to shoot helpless undead below. He was in a bonfire trap, like the courtyard of the Asylum.

"I shall take your glib response as proof of Fire. Standest ye away from the edge – I shall lower the ladder posthaste."

The demon disappeared, and after a moment, a ladder of spider silk unfurled from above. Fully refreshed from his rebirth at the bonfire, Lex made his way up quickly and found himself in a demonic prison – more like the hell he had expected from Izalith. Doors lined opposite walls down a long hallway. Rather than iron bars, the doors were solid stone, broken only by a slit for the wardens to look inside.

"The ignorant _firion_ revives at last," a venomous whisper hissed from one of the slots.

"Be thou silent, traitor- _Queliel_ ," the goat-headed demon said without inflection. "Hither god-slave did more to liberate demonkind in one moment than thou didst in a millennium. Compared to thee, afraid to risk, he is the stronger witch."

"Wonderful to see my years of sacrifice rewarded thusly. Truly, I should have placed all my hopes on an impossible gamble centuries ago."

That voice like Quelaag's belonged to the elder Daughter of Chaos. She must have been captured after Quelaag seized control of the Kiln. Only, how long had Lex been dead for there to already be a prison?

"Mind ye not the Firesage's whore. Ye are celebrated as our liberator, Deacon Lexion of Carim. Only, speak ye not the name of your treacherous goddess aloud, for that grudge runneth deep. I am Gaoler Landahen, a mere servant of this arcology and no pyromancer. I must apologize for your crude accomodations. Our workforce is much diminished, and the comforts of the gaol are of least concern."

Hearing such polite, if archaic, speech from a beast-headed demon was a little strange.

"A pleasure to meet you," Lex said, nodding uncomfortably. "Arcology, you said? I'm not familiar with the term."

"'tis a contraction of sorts – ecological architecture. I should be surprised if it wert found outside of a witch's lexicon. Cities built in the style of the gods art oft poorly designed, especially human cities which groweth like weeds. Think ye of how a castle must abandon its fields while under siege. The arcology Izalith is like a tended garden. All that we need is produced here."

"What about space, though?" Lex asked. "There's more room under the dome, sure, but that'd be outside the walls."

"Population is no concern. It is not purely poetry to speak of the arcology as tended garden. Labor is divided as is most efficient. We grow exactly as much food is needed, and those who tend to our crops are _experts_. 'tis a far cry from abused lands tended by ignorant peasants. As all of us here are passionate about their individual specialties, there are far fewer children."

"Hold on! You're telling me that the city full of naked people has… less…"

Lex swallowed awkwardly.

"Intercourse?"

"Hardly," Landahen scoffed. "Effective contraception is among the earliest miracles of the first _Izalithron_. With no danger of starvation or disease, parents are free to put all their efforts into a smaller number of children – if they wish any at all. Counting on a child to inherit one's genius is a gamble. Better for one's heir to be a chosen apprentice.

To that end, the nine children of _Lithsiel Izalithron_ and Jeremiah of Oolacile are the greatest number of blood siblings in the city's history."

"Oolacile. I've heard that before. It was…"

Lex tried to sort the frazzled memories of his visions.

"…that secret human city. The first of its kind."

"I could tell you naught about it. Now, though I hate to interrupt an inquisitive mind, _Quelaag Izalithron_ requested your presence as soon as you recovered. Time may hath frozen in outer Lordran, but in the presence of a Lord, the sands of the hourglass falleth unabated. More than a fortnight hath passed you by, Deacon Lexion. We almost wondered if you had truly perished."

"I've been dead for _two weeks_? Well, I guess it's not as bad as how long I was rotting in the Asylum. But I couldn't have been dead for more than a few hours last time."

"I fear can offer no answers. Perhaps the _Izalithron_ would know more."

The demon motioned down the hallway, presumably toward the exit. Lex started to follow, but the Daughter of Chaos called out.

"Do not think you are safe here, undead. We gods are treacherous by birth, possessed of too much Flame and a desire for still more. Your cursed kind alone have the capacity to choose. Do not seek the path of the Usurper. It bears only ash. Thus is Izalith. Thus is the Ash Lore."

"Quiet, prisoner!" the goat bleated. "I'll muzzle thee if thou lackest the will to hold thy tongue."

Lex had a clear view through the slot in the witch's door. Her ancient robes had been taken, and she was completely naked. Her hair had been shaved and her nails clipped. She was free to walk about the generously-sized cell, but her hands were fully enclosed in shells of fireproof black iron carved with sacred runes. Lex recognized the device somehow – this was a lost artifact of Berenike, the Great Justicar.

Their eyes met briefly. The woman was exhausted and resigned. She wasn't lying to him, but she _was_ probing for a weakness. Lex closed his one eye and turned away.

"Let's go, Lambchop. Best not to keep Queenlaag waiting."

Stepping out into the grand temple complex again, the cleric found not much had changed. It was as the jailer had said – in spite of the demons' physical strength, there just weren't enough hands to go around. Much of the rubble which had marked the city's decline was still there. In fact, the city looked even worse, with Quelaag's webs forming a net across the towers as if they were abandoned.

"Well, Thorolund wasn't built in a day."

Lex followed the goat demon through the abandoned streets. Occasionally, he would see a demon running to perform some task or sowing sees over ruined buildings. Still, it felt subtly wrong, like the Cathedral did when he was made to run an errand alone while the rest of the deacons were at prayer. After a short time, he recognized the path. The prison hadn't been far from where Quelaag had "disciplined" him.

Lex took a deep breath to control his rising blood. The demon was saying something, but he wasn't listening. So focused on calming his arousal, he didn't realize the palace was before him until he stepped on that ramp again.

"Wait-"

Stairs had been carved into the sides of the ramp, but it was too late for Lex. He lost his balance and fell on his butt before he could find something to stop him. As he raced down the ramp, a low but powerful humming erupted all around him, echoing in the chamber and through his body. The tremendous basso shook his very bones and nearly caused him to black out as the pressure mounted in his skull.

The rumbling was not constant but rather an intermittent, rhythmic drone. It was almost as if horns were being played in slow motion. Seals of fire danced around him in tune with the blaring sound. They twisted and turned, forming images he could barely make out.

He saw the figures of the Witch of Izalith and her Daughters as Quelaag had shown him. He saw the betrayal of Izalith's king once more. Now, he saw the survivors huddled in the swamp and blight. They had made a deal with the one Quelaag had called a witch, the God of War. But the god vanished. He saw Quelaag killing countless Chosen Undead.

Then he saw… himself. The figure representing him was small like the other humans, but his alone had the four feathered wings of Berenike stretching about it. He saw the death of the Firesage and Quelaag standing before her mother.

The figures disappeared as Lex neared the end of the tunnel, the light from outside hiding the fiery pantomime. The undead hit the floor with enough speed to seriously injure a living human. Frankly, he was surprised there was a floor at all. Then his surprise grew even greater when he saw what the floor _was_.

Lex leapt to his feet in surprise. The ancient, worn stones were gone. Completely. Even the walls, which had only been damaged by the tremors caused by the tree-creature moving, had been replaced. The cracked dome overhead had been replaced. The "focal mausoleums" had been replaced. The enormous, ruined throne of the Witch of Izalith had been replaced.

Everything in the room now was black-red onyx, polished to a shine and rippling like blood. The fragile stone was reinforced with holy brass and young Chaos roots which glistened with a healthy vigor the old ones had not possessed.

The Lord-Witch herself was still there, likewise reinvigorated – though by what, Lex hesitated to imagine. The wretched creature again sat, rooted to a throne which must have been built around it. Yet the monster seemed content. It did not flinch or rage at his sudden appearance.

Lex looked around the chamber, illuminated by glowing runes which orbited the throne. At last, he saw the hideous demons with long snouts like wooden flutes which were lurking along the perimiter of the chamber. They had been the source of the sonorous bass sounds. Now that he'd arrived, the pseudo-music came to a stop, and the demons bowed their heads to the throne.

" _Izalithron_ – the Witch of Izalith – greets you, son of the Manfolk and servant of our kin _Fion Gwân_. We had thought you lost to the Abyss. We are pleased to see your Fire again."

Lex blinked. It took him a moment to realize the _actual_ Witch of Izalith wasn't speaking now that he couldn't rely on his blessed eye to reveal falsehoods. There. He hadn't noticed her at first because it was the last place he would have expected her to be.

Quelaag reclined in her mother's lap, grasping a long staff of twisted wood cut from the tree-woman's own body. As if that weren't surprising enough, she had regained her legs – and more miraculously, wore clothing. If anything, though, the aggressively-cut gown of thin, black silk and golden thread was even more sexual than mere nudity. In spite of her hatred for Beryf, she too wore a hood, with a flowing veil that hid her eyes.

In spite of that, Lex felt her gaze on him. She had paused, waiting for him to speak.

"It's pleasure to see you as well. That gown is… quite bewitching."

Quelaag allowed herself to chuckle, her voice rich and indulgent now that she was no longer the ruler of a poisoned bog.

"A monk or pilgrim has no need for such a way with words. Even deacon or true priest should listen moreso than speak. Perhaps you should call yourself 'evangelist,' Lexion of the Deep."

"Well, I'm glad you're in such good humor as to find my flattery compelling. But I'm here because I'd heard that you wanted to speak with me rather than the other way around."

Quelaag nodded slightly and turned in her seat to directly face Lex.

"This city; this people; this Lord owes you a debt, Lexion of the Deep. You have already refused our offer of vassalage. We will not test your devotion further. If there is _any_ other reward which I can grant you in my power as the second _Izalithron_ , it shall be yours."

The witch stretched one of her new, human legs and crossed it over the other. Her calves and thighs were slim but powerful. Her body athletic but not so that the muscles stretched the skin. Black robes hung loosely over pale flesh. Black nails glinted on bare toes. Lex didn't need a magic eye to see this was the demonic seduction Oscar warned about. Only, it was far less subtle than Oscar imagined.

The cleric looked up at the demon queen for a long moment. Words came to his lips unbidden, but he bit them back. Quickly, he thought of something else to say.

"It seems the bonfire failed to completely heal me – perhaps some final attack from the old Witch. As you can see, I find myself with only one eye. Many of your people have more eye than they know what to do with. Could you spare one for me? I miss the obvious enough with _two_ eyes."

Quelaag smiled broadly. Lex wondered if she really thought that comment was funny or if she was merely that pleased with herself.

"Certainly, something so trivial as but a single eye is within our power."

She snapped her fingers, and the remains of the old Witch shifted. Vines which had lain along the edge of the chamber and out of signt now began snaking into crevices in the walls. After a few moments, a vine whipped across the room, shrieking through the air until it came to a stop just before Lex's nose. A vessel of red-tinted volcanic glass bobbed from the vine, suspended by a loop in its cap of black stone. Within, an eyeball floated in a sickly yellow fluid.

"Well, that's… convenient."

Lex took the vial and removed the cap, holding it between two fingers. He touched his talisman through his belt pouch and recited the miracle of purification to cleanse himself before gingerly reaching into the fluid. It was sticky and disgusting, but he doubted anything could really bother him after having climbed through the sewers to get to Blighttown. The cleric swallowed nervously and forced his empty eyelid open wide as he tilted his head back. The tail of nerves dangling from the eyeball tickled the inside of his brain as he lowered it into place. Lex clenched his teeth and spat out a healing spell.

Sight came back all at once, though he had to blink a few times to get used to it. He twisted the cap back onto the glass vessel and placed it on the vine. The tendril whipped back the way it had come, disappearing into the walls.

"Is it to your satisfaction?"

It was Lex's turn to smile. She didn't realize he knew. Nobody keeps eyeballs simply lying around.

"It is a gift more than I could have asked for," he said, giving a sweeping bow. "Is there anything else I can do to repay you for such generosity?"

"You have already given much to this city. We could not ask for more."

Quelaag was totally relaxed. Lex was certain he could ask for something outrageous now, and she would grant it. He restrained the impulse.

"As much as I'd like to tour your city, I'm sure you would prefer to show it after you've had time to make it sparkle like this chamber. And of course, I have my Mission. Are the Astorans still here?"

"They are not. They waited three days at Knight Solaire's insistence before departing. Our hospitality could not tempt them to stay longer."

Lex nodded.

"Then they have many days' lead on me. I must hurry if I'm to rejoin them before they save the world. It pains me to leave so soon, but such is the Fate of the Undead."

Quelaag's expression turned to dutiful concern.

"Alas, if only you had the time to rest. Should the Flame fail and the outer world fall to Dark, you will always have a place here. Only, consider – perhaps the outside world is beyond saving. Should you discover some power or secret of Lord Gwyn's, consider turning its use to the Kiln of the Chaos Flame rather than the First."

"I will consider it as my mistress allows," the cleric said, bowing again. "Then, with your permission, I will take my leave."

"May you be called 'speed demon' on your journey, Lexion of the Deep. One of our spiders will guide you to the surface. We have already spoken with the so-called Blightbaron, the fool elder son of of the prior _Izalithon_ , a fool wastrel who stood with his exiled progenitor. Quelapalaam will allow you pass through Blighttown as you please. Inform us if the blighters should give you the slightest trouble."

"Blessings of the gods for your kindness, gracious Witch of Izalith. Until I see you again, farewell."

"Fare you well, Lexion of the Deep."

Lex turned and approached the end of the entrance chute. Rungs had been carved beneath the stairs on either side of the slide. As he began to climb, the prophet closed his new eye and reached out to the old one. As it happened, he had never lost his power, even without the matching eye.

Through the shadow of a sheer veil, he saw himself climbing. Only, his vision was transfixed. He had no control of the physical eye any longer, and it held to a single point. His butt.

Lex reached the top of the ladder and pretended to slip, jutting his butt into the open air. His missing eye glared intensely at the scarlet robe he wore.

"Sweet Fina," he whispered. "Living in a swamp for a thousand years really does something to your libido, doesn't it?"

He stood at the top of the steps and stretched his arms to look natural. Then, he bent over to stretch his legs. His missing eye followed as he turned one way then the other.

"So much for the royal dignity, huh, Quelaag? Still, what sort of bizarre demon-spider romance is exchanging eyeballs?"

The prophet felt Quelaag's eye in his skull, gently skimming her memories with his second sight. He wondered faintly how she had sedated him to remove it in the first place. Still, it hardly mattered. This was no ring or wand which had been carried by fallen heroes. This was a living part of an ancient goddess. If he really tried, Lex could see even the primordial war with the everlasting dragons.

He chuckled and began the long climb back to the surface of Izalith.

"O Goddess," he said quietly, "I can't help but wonder… did you let me save Quelaag's people knowing she would lust after my eye? I can only imagine what false visions you're showing the heretic. If it please you, though, have mercy on her. You did destroy her life to begin with, after all."


	24. The Spine

Lex emerged from a deep crevice in a valley wall. This was the way Oscar and Solaire had entered Blighttown. The cleric was not far from the flooded city of New Londo, but his curiosity about the ruins faded immediately.

"God of War! What in Gwyn's name-? How? Again!"

The valley was full of blue-scaled drakes, flying to and fro without obvious purpose.

"How did they fail to mention they walked through what I assume is Ornstein's hunting preserve? And why do drakes keep ignoring Solaire?"

He grumbled and had half a mind to discipline himself for the oversight.

"Why didn't I ask Quelaag to send a demon escort? Where am I even going? We've rung the Bells; what was next? Because 'the Fate of the Undead thou shalt know' is sounding like a lot of hoopla!"

Lex sighed and rubbed Quelaag's eye.

"What did I say before? The Kingseeker."

That name didn't prompt anything in Quelaag's memories. So it was something the Goddess had known. Lex wasn't quite sure how those visions worked. It wasn't as if he had a particular artifact to focus his sight. Even if his Ring of Condemnation was still intact, he expected it would only have the memories of its previous wearers.

Was there anything else, a clue he could follow? What about the Bells themselves? Why two? Why were these warning bells connected to the prophecy of the Chosen Undead? Was there something he had missed about the Parish or-?

"You wish to renew the Lords' Pact?" Quelaag had said. "After your people have already taken everything? Pygmies eat your eyes!"

They were speaking in the gods' tongue, but Lex understood it like a native. The vision shimmered around him. Unused to controlling his new power, the prophet's perspective floated freely. A desperate Quelaag had broken into the belfry, only to be captured. A pair of spears with sturdy crossbars had locked over her neck and pinned her to the stone.

A number of creatures, not human or god or even demon, stood around her. They were knights in golden plate bearing spears of rippling electrum. Each had a tremendous mane of golden hair flowing about their feline heads. Each one of them an elite, they wore scarlet capes and diadems of a glaring eye. Their captain wore an elaborate death mask with a flaring, red plume. This was Ornstein, Master of the Dragon Hunt.

Yet even this illustrious personnage, one of the Four Knights of Gwyn, looked to another. Lex struggled to follow Quelaag's glare but was unable to direct his vision.

"Quelaag," a voice said with absolute authority, "listen to me. This is the last chance for you. I will recognize you as the legitimate ruler of Izalith. That much will silence the hawks for now. Just keep the watch, keep the Firesage from moving, and you will remain safe.

Worst comes to worst, ring the Bell. The Parish will confirm your peril and ring their own. The giants will hear the two peals and open the gates of Sen's Fortress. I trust that mere traps will not stop you."

Lex snapped back to awareness. A sort of tingling sensation buzzed at the front of his skull. Like a bird knows North, he somehow knew where Sen's Fortress was – where Anor Londo was. He needed to get to Anor Londo. He needed to speak with the gods as a Champion who had come of his own merit; not because he had been Chosen.

It was simple. He just had to cross the Valley of Drakes; take the secret elevator up to Darkroot Basin; climb out of the basin; pass another one of those mancatcher monsters; and brave the trials of the human meatgrinder known as Sen's Fortress.

"Right, simple," Lex said sarcastically.

He started down the narrow ledge which led to New Londo against his better judgment. The drakes flew all throughout the valley, seemingly without purpose. Avoiding them was a dubious prospect, but he had no idea how he'd fight. He had no ranged attacks beyond the crude crossbow, and he couldn't exactly dodge attacks on a ledge. He was a sitting duck – or rather, crow.

The cleric was as quiet as he could be, edging along the path even though there was more than enough room to simply walk. The drakes paid him no heed, continuing their mad flights. Lex took a winding path up, leading to an ancient, decrepit wooden bridge. He set one foot on it gingerly, and it groaned and wobbled more than he did after walking to a distant village for relief work.

Lex at last gathered his courage and walked out onto the green and rotting planks, mold-black ropes straining. The gentle breeze of Firelink Shrine above howled and shook the bridge as it raced through the canyon. Lex gripped his talisman for reassurance and continued onward. The bridge wasn't terribly long, so he just had to clench and hurry through. Unfortunately, his hesitation had an unexpected effect.

One of the drakes had turned from riding the wind. There was a chunk of meat suspended in midair, and the dumb animal wasn't about to second-guess magical sky-meat. Lex stopped for a moment to look over the side, and the wyvern missed him, talons digging into the rotted planks just in front of him. The ropes snapped from the sudden impact, and the wyvern lifted off again with a cry of frustration.

"Oh," Lex said, swallowing, "Goddess."

There was a final, uneventful groan from the bridge, and it fell out from under him. In the brief moment of weightlessness that followed, he considered how awkward it would be to regenerate in the demon prison again. His screams attracted still more wyverns. One of them swooped down to grab him in its talons, knocking the air out of him. As it rose, another veered in, trying to grab his dangling legs and steal the first drake's prize. The wyverns hissed at each other and tried flapping in opposite directions.

"Lloyd's beard! This is what the rack feels like?"

Lex fumbled for his talisman-wand and recited his miracle through gritted teeth. The blue-scaled drakes made a sort of retching sound and went limp as the violet shockwave rushed over them. The human and pair of lizards dropped out of the air ungracefully. One of the drakes fell into the bottomless canyon, while the other crashed on the ledge with a bone-shattering crunch. Lex landed like a limp rag, draping over a rocky outcrop of some sort.

"Well, that didn't hurt too badly," he groaned. "Wait, I can't feel-"

He looked down. He'd fallen so that he was draped over either side of the rocks more or less equally. His middle rose steeply, with his head on one side and his legs on the other.

"Oh, that's… This is the type of injury that's so bad you can't feel it, isn't it?"

He tried to raise one leg. Nothing happened.

"Oh boy. Can I heal this? Probably not."

Before he could even try, the stone on which he lay began to rumble. It rose quite a bit and angled backward, forcing him to awkwardly grab hold while facing the sky. As he looked around, he saw he wasn't on an ordinary rock formation. It was deeply black and pitted, as if it had been immersed in acid. There was also a vaguely familiar purple ooze which burbled out as the stone moved.

There was a sort of gurgling growl that he both heard and felt through the stone. A number of the rocks in front of him twisted. The cleric stared into the empty eye sockets of an undying but most definitely dead dragon. The stones around him – the wings, he realized, beat uselessly. The half-rotten immortal was too weak to move. Its weight alone kept it embedded in the cliffside where it had fallen. The Gravelord's toxic miasma of Death oozed from its bones.

"This is an everlasting dragon! And it's just lying here on the side of the path like chamber pot waste. Wasn't this a main road between Izalith and somewhere? Is this what hubris is? You hear those myths and don't believe anyone could possibly be so arrogant, but then there's a dragon just lying on the side of the road."

Lex tried to rise, but losing the ability to move his hips made it basically impossible. Using only his arms, he tried to turn himself over, but his limp lower half remained butt-down. The dragon gave a sort of pathetic hiss and tried to shake him off, but it was in no better shape. After a few moments of clumsy shaking, they both slumped into quiet resignation.

"Setting aside the obvious issues for travelers, this is pretty cruel. I mean, I get it, battles are chaotic. But this guy's basically on the gods' doorstep. Or is that why? They didn't want to let the humans get this close? Hm."

Lex lowered his head. He was roughly between the dragon's shoulder blades. His back had been broken by a ridge running down the dragon's own spine. With how weak the Death-afflicted dragon was, there was essentially nothing it could do to him. The drakes flying about could still attack him, but it seemed they had a natural aversion to the dragon or the toxins which filled it.

The cleric looked around again just to ensure no demons or other Chosen Undead had appeared out of nowhere. Confident he wasn't being watched, he licked the dragon.

"Yeah, that tastes like rock."

He gently opened his mouth and tapped his front teeth against a bit of stone which protruded. His teeth merely clicked without doing anything. The cleric rolled himself back up to face the sky and grasped his hands.

"Dear Goddess, you didn't actually give me any way of contacting you, so I hope regular praying still reaches you. So, I guess I have a question. How did the ancient humans eat dragons? In your name, I pray. Umbasa."

Lex stared at the sky for several seconds.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to use my eye, aren't it?"

He took a firm grip on the dragon to focus himself and closed Quelaag's left eye. Like gazing at the sun, it was difficult to look at that history directly. It had been something no one wanted to see, no one wanted to remember. Monstrous or not, the dragons had been smarter and wiser than even the gods. The beasts called Men which devoured the fallen dragons were thus worse than cannibals.

Lex grunted with determination. If Quelaag didn't want to see it, what about one who couldn't help but watch? He gazed into the memories of the undying dragon beneath him.

That was a mistake.

He'd touched upon the madness of Chaos when he'd first touched upon Quelaag's memories, but even a demon was still a creature of the Age of Fire. Trying to touch upon the mind of a being older than time itself wrenched his mind free of its moorings.

… _and the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten._

Beryf's brand upon his forehead burned his consciousness in place, keeping him from being lost in the formless Age of Ancients. He saw the dragon fleeing from a failed attack on Anor Londo. This was not the ancient war. Lord Gwyn had departed, and the remnants of the everlasting dragons had been enticed to attack the gods' keep.

A burning eye. The Black Dragon. A trap. The God of War. The necromancer.

Lex focused his gaze. This wasn't what he wanted to find. Where was the true form of Man? There.

Strong and hale, shimmering skin. A faceless void within. Six limbs. White wings. The so-called everlasting dragon looked up at the world's true heritors as they blotted out the sun.

"I see. Disgusting, but…" Lex paused and licked his lips. "The Goddess said it was fine if I followed my heritage."

The human pulled himself back onto his belly. He hesitated as he opened his mouth and reached toward it with two fingers. All at once, he forced his jaw open as wide as it could go. His fingers stalled in front of his mouth as if repelled by an invisible barrier. Slowly, he reached into his throat.

Lex gagged but forced the fingers further back. He focused on controlling his body, on driving his instinct. All at once, the dam broke, and he choked up stomach acid on his hand and the dragon's back. Incredibly, the stone sizzled. What dripped from the human's mouth and pooled beneath him wasn't the pale yellow of acid but a sort of blue-purple. His slimy fingers trembling from exertion and excitement, he dug into the dragon's bare flesh.

The cleric grinned thinly, then committed a sin. He took a chip and ate it. The shattered rock flakes burned his throat as he swallowed. Still faintly connected, the prophet felt memories of dying dragons rise to the surface of the thing's mind. The earth of the cliffside stirred as it tried to flee in spite of its rotten body.

"This isn't working," Lex grumbled. "And how can I eat this much anyway? Well, isn't this rotten meat anyway? Is it really safe to eat?"

The memory of human maggots made him shudder in disgust. It was safe, then, if not the most wholesome of foods. Rather than the rotting dragon, he should be looking for something else. His instincts led him to the dragon's memory. Ah, only the weakest humans had eaten of the Death-tainted flesh. There was a greater prize for the mighty.

Lex raised his head and sniffed the air like a beast. Just one. He skimmed the dragon's memories. Spectral images of dragon-slaying bolts struck the surface of the rotting thing. As it had lain hidden, waiting for the dragonslayers to pass, a hideous thing cloaked in a black robe had approached it. The prophet watched the necromancer's echo as it unleashed the Gravelord's miasma. While the immortal dragon panicked as Death took it, the masked figure harvested materials from its body. But the necromancer had missed one.

Lex turned from the pool of his vomit and dragged his broken body up the dragon's neck. It shook its skeletal head, and the spikes along its neck tore the human's weak body. Still, he dragged himself onward, climbing under its bone-crushing jaw. Here was his prize.

A stone scale.

Certainly, the dragon could be said to have skin like stone, but the skin was unbroken where it wasn't rotten. It was like the mutant dragon Lex had fought with Lautrec and Domhnall, possessing only a mighty hide. The greatest prize of the ancient dragons were their stone scales, which had insulated them from the outside world and made them everlasting.

It was ashen gray but faintly glimmered emerald where the sun directly struck it. It was but a single shingle, perhaps the size of the frail human's palm.

Lex focused on his body, recalling the sewers he had fought through and the hideous Chaos demons which had been too frightening at the time to be nauseating. He threw up a little in his mouth, but there was simply nothing left in his stomach. The human covered his mouth and carefully spat out the disgusting blue-purple ooze.

He rubbed it over his fingers and reached for the scale. He rubbed the stone skin around the scale, burning it away with the poisonous muck. With a sound of cracking wood, he pulled the scale away. The dragon died instantly. One moment, it had been rocking its body to try and unsettle the parasite, and the next, it had collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Lex tested the scale with his teeth. It broke with enough effort, though it hurt to do so. Still, it was surprising the invincible secret of the dragons could be eaten like a soldier's hardtack. Of course, as much as warriors joked about the hard-baked biscuits tasting like rock, this actually _was_ rock.

"I should have taken some salt from the Parish mess hall," Lex sighed.

He felt a little stronger with some food in him, but that did nothing to resolve the problem of being paralyzed from the waist down. True, he could still drag himself over the cliffside. He _really_ didn't want to face Quelaag again, though. Yet maybe she had the answer, or rather, her eye did.

His wrasse could eat abnormalities in the body, but he didn't know whether they could knit something together. Certainly, his standard-ranked Heal miracle wasn't strong enough to mend a crippling injury. Perhaps some growing power of the Witch of Izalith would grow his back into one piece.

He tried to pull himself back onto the top of the dragon instead of awkwardly hanging halfway beneath it. As his weight shifted, the now-inanimate skull turned and fell over. The human slipped and fell on his back, under the dragon's neck. Fortunately, its skull was large enough that he wasn't crushed.

The shifting skeleton lost some grip on the cliffside, and the toes slipped free. Unable to sustain the weight of its powerful legs and tail, the dragon's own spine snapped in two, and its lower body fell into the chasm.

"So that's how Izalith got all those dragon butts," Lex said sarcastically. "Oh, this is a bad omen."

The prophet closed his left eye and scanned the demon's memories for healing magics. She could use that flame of healing he had seen before, and that was it.

"A warrior-witch, huh? That doesn't really help. Well, I guess I can at least test the limits of my own witchery."

He raised his talisman-wand and summoned the shadow-fish of living Dark. They nibbled at him, smoothing out the edges of his wounds from drake talons and dragon spikes. They didn't heal the wounds themselves, of course; the wrasse were born of two curative spells rather than healing spells. Yet one seemed curious about the cleric's broken back.

He shuddered as the ghostly fish passed through his body to work on his back. Most of the fish quietly popped to leave behind inky residue on the grass. Lex suddenly gasped as the last fish did _something_ to the base of his spine. It drifted to one side, then pulled hard.

"Oh! Goddess! Stop! Oh! Gwyn! No! Argh!"

He threw his arm to the ground and flipped himself over as quickly as he could. The wrasse merely adjusted itself and kept yanking, each tug as agonizing as the last. He felt something pressing against the flesh of his back. Half-mad, he grabbed the hollow thief's knife from his belt. Craning his neck, he pressed the blade through his robes, digging deep into his skin.

His back was already broken, so he couldn't really make the situation worse. The twisted cleric savored the pain as the knife dug through human meat. The fish kept pulling as he widened and deepened the crude incision. At last, there was a sickening slurp as the wrasse tugged something from the bleeding cavity.

The fish proudly floated around to its creator's face and desposited something on the grass before popping. Lex sighed with relief before doing anything else. After a moment, he blinked the ink out of his eyes and looked at what the wrasse had brought him. It seemed to be a shattered vertebra.

"Well, that's not good. I guess at least I know the wrasse can clean wounds. Wait a second."

Clerics learned a small amount of mundane medicine in order to treat injuries even after their divine power had been exhausted. It was a secondary skill, and few clerics were half as informed as true physicians, surgeons, or apothecaries. Still, even Lex could tell this was egregiously wrong.

The vertebrae grew thicker and stronger as they descended. Yet this vertebra from the base of his spine was small, perhaps smaller than one from the neck would be. He held it up to his holy eye. The bone had grown into a peculiar pattern, but Quelaag did not know it, and the Goddess was silent on the matter.

As he studied the twisting shape, a strange thing began to happen. The feeling gradually returned to his legs. One foot twitched with a life of its own.

"Goddess! Is this divine intervention or-?"

Lex looked at the strange vertebra suspiciously. Was it a "poison" to his body? It was just a bone, wasn't it? The true form of Man didn't have such tremendous healing power, did it?

He wasn't about to look a gifthorse in the mouth. He crawled out from under the dragon and dusted himself off. With two fingers, he checked to see if his back was still bleeding. The blood was still sticky, but the deep cut had completely disappeared. The sudden turn of good fortune was too much for him, but he simply didn't have any information. Lex put the mutant vertebra in a belt pouch and continued on his way.


	25. Tears of the Dragon

Lex advanced cautiously, but the canyon path was simply too narrow to avoid all the drakes. While none of the flying ones seemed attracted by his presence on the ledge, a single one of the bear-sized reptiles was sunning itself a short distance ahead.

Now that he thought of it, he _still_ didn't have a real weapon. He should have asked for one while Quelaag was offering favors. Well, maybe if he was especially quiet, he could deal with the wyvern quickly. As silently as he snuck into the restricted section of the Cathedral's library, he crept behind the lazy drake. The cleric held his breath and raised his lash.

The iron studs raked across the back of the wyvern's head. It shrieked in panic and sleepily threw itself over the cliff, gliding toward another sunny ledge. Lex sighed and continued onward. Around the winding canyon walls, he went until he saw a crumbling bridge in the distance. The path ended there, on a broad plateau which supported one side of the bridge.

There were more drakes perched on that bridge than Lex had seen anywhere else in the valley. They'd built their nests there and worked together to keep a watch. Sentries flew past constantly, and some even patrolled the ends of the bridge on foot. Sneaking past those patrols would be a challenge, though hopefully the last he'd face here. His destination was not much further beyond.

A cloistered cleric, of course, was not suited to stealth. Lex had hidden behind the canyon wall and waited for the wandering wyvern to pass. As soon as he thought it had gone far enough, he'd dashed to the end of the bridge. Of course, he hadn't thought to check the path of the flying guards. One drake screeched, and a dozen turned to see the idiot dressed in blood red, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Lex sighed.

"Should I even keep asking for wings, Goddess? I feel like it's a jinx at this point."

His muscles clenched for a dead sprint, but he paused to catch his breath. The drakes were watching him, but they'd not moved yet. Should he just run or would that make them fall upon him as a flock? Or was it a lounge? Were flying lizards categorized like birds or terrestrial lizards?

Lex realized the wyverns were giving him a tremendous amount of time. He waved at them, but they didn't move. The flying sentries kept to their patrols, but all the grounded drakes stood and watched. The cleric looked to his destination again.

Overhead was a tremendous gateway which had fallen to ruin without its doors ever having been placed. It led nowhere – or rather, to a pile of rubble where the cliff had undergone excavation. Lex certainly wasn't familiar enough with the geography of Lordran to guess where it was meant to lead, but the sheer labor involved in tunneling through such a cliff emphasized its importance.

Yet the abandoned road wasn't his true goal. Rather, an elevator was tucked away amongst the rubble. It would take him much of the way up to the Parish, and from the Parish, he could reach Sen's Fortress. Of course, he couldn't imagine what purpose such an elevator had either.

Lex took one step toward the bridge. The drakes didn't move. He looked back to the ruined gateway. They weren't trying to surround him either. He took the opportunity to get a good look at the far side of the bridge.

There was a gateway to mirror the one behind him, only it did have doors – a pair of solid black iron slabs the likes of which would probably bankrupt even the Thoron Empire at its peak. These gates were sealed by a pair of iron bars. The bars were each as tall as a man and probably longer than four drakes, tip to tail. The cleric wouldn't be surprised if the gates could hold against a true dragon. He squinted and looked with his blessed eye.

No, these gates could hold against even the wrath of Izalith. They were sealed four times with the mark of a deity. The floral sign felt familiar, but he somehow knew it was malformed, as if the maker had forgotten the very deity the protections invoked. Still, in spite of that mistake, this was the greatest craft of mankind Lex had ever seen. It wasn't as beautiful as the Cathedral, certainly, but the sheer, nation-ruining cost of the gate sang to his merchant blood. This was the majesty of New Londo, the city of Man built at the foot of the gods' capital.

Lex started to turn away, but the familiar sensation of a vision held him. A man of Carim like himself, faithful to the Goddess. The prophet walked to the edge of the cliff as he watched the shadow of the other undead climb along the underside of the bridge. The phantasm climbed the valley wall and snuck past the wyverns. It climbed the old rope ladder beside the gate, held up only by ivy now. There had been something on top of the gate turret the Goddess had wanted. The vision ended with that old hero slain by wyvern breath from above.

Lex licked his lips and considered the impossible task before him.

"Still a no on those wings, my Lady?"

He lacked the proper tools for climbing the bridge's underside like his predecessor, to say nothing of the physical ability. Should he try his luck instead? He walked back to the bridge. The drake guarding that side stared at him. He set foot on the bridge. It didn't move.

"That's right! Be afraid of the big, bad dragonslayer! Who eats stone scales for breakfast? This guy!"

It finally sank in.

"Ornstein's lugged spear! I really ate part of a dragon, didn't I? This is the most disappointing legendary deed I've ever heard of."

Confident, he took several more steps. The drake screeched and charged at him.

"Oh, I just wasn't close enough yet. Thunderballs!"

Lex took off down the bridge at full speed. The nearest wyvern took to the air and closed on him quickly. Just as it dove to grab him, he tripped over something, falling out of reach. He fell amongst a pile of wyvern eggs, one of which had gotten caught underfoot. As another drake approached him, he haphazardly threw one of the head-sized eggs over the side of the bridge. The drake dove after the egg instead of chasing the culprit, so Lex stumbled to his feet and resumed running.

They were coming at him from the far side now. As he ran out of breath again, the cleric dropped and slid along the worn stone. A chunk of the bridge was missing, and a bandit's corpse was splayed away from it, as if slain in a blast. One of the flying drakes dove for the cleric but missed and slipped off the crumbling stone. He skidded to a stop beside the corpse and wrenched a round shield from its atrophied hand.

As Lex rose to his feet again, he threw the shield like a discus. The shield beaned a drake in the teeth. It winced just long enough for him to run past. He was almost there, he just had to-

"Wait, aren't I going to be completely vulnerable on the ladder?"

He didn't stop running, in spite of the danger. If he stopped, his fear might catch him. He jumped onto the ladder, rocking the old rope. A wyvern on the ground behind him drew its head back imposingly, then unleashed its breath.

"Lightning?! Impossible! How can a degenerate, inbred offshoot of dragons use the weapon of the gods?"

The shattered bolts streamed against the turret just below Lex's feet. The cleric climbed faster, powered by indignant rage.

"This is more nonsense than that headless thing shooting lightning! What's next? Necromancers using pyromancy?"

A thunderdrake strafed him, spraying its electric breath along the turret. Lex threw himself out of the way, dropping slightly before he caught hold of the wild ivy growing beside the ladder. Fortunately, the ivy's roots had grown deep, and it bore his weight. He threw himself over the top of the turret as another wyvern flew past.

There was some sort of mechanical device before him, but it seemed to have been disassembled. His left eye saw the phantom shape of a tremendous ringed wheel with a lever. He saw it faintly – the city had been sealed from inside. The deity's sign on the gate blocked him from seeing more. How peculiar. Who could block the Goddess' power?

A wyvern tried to divebomb the cleric, but he repelled it with a violet shockwave, casting its lifeless body onto another drake on the ground. Without missing a beat, Lex checked the belt pouches and fingers of his predecessor's corpse. There was an intricately-engraved silver ring embedded with a ruby cut in a droplet shape.

"A red tearstone, huh? That could be useful with how often I'm half-dead from falling off something. Speaking of which."

He looked over the side of the turret. Jumping would hurt, but letting the wyverns break his fall might ultimately be safer than trying to slowly descend the ladder. He sighed.

"Goddess, give me wings. Please?"

Lex awkwardly jumped off the tower just as a wyvern was flying at him. The impact knocked the air out of him and sent him tumbling sidelong. He landed on the back of another wyvern which had been preparing to strafe the turret. The cleric bounced again and landed on the drake he'd already hit with the falling corpse. He rolled down its back as it crumpled, leaving him mere steps from the bridge and mostly unharmed.

Lex blinked, then immediately began sprinting without thinking too hard about his unlikely survival. A pair of drakes blocked his way, one above and one below. He raised his wand and blasted through like a siege firebomb. By the time he reached the empty gateway, his vision was blacking from lack of air. Even the stamina-quickening ring and shield he carried couldn't restore him swiftly after such an exertion.

Huffing and puffing, he stumbled up the rubble. Behind the stub of a wall was a turret like the one he'd climbed, only since he was on the interior side, there was a doorway. He ducked inside and wound the corner, collapsing in a heap now that he was safe from the wyverns.

It was some time before he finally staggered to his feet and entered the elevator. It was a corroded and green metal platform in a round shaft. Chains supported it, but otherwise it was a similar mechanism to Izalith's lifts, controlled by a raised panel in the center. As with Izalith's, the panel had an elaborate sigil on it, though this one quite obviously lacked the magical significance and didn't ooze Chaos fire.

Only, the elevator shaft's decoration was unusual.

"Goddess, this is a little excessive. What _was_ New Londo?"

Eight statues of the goddess surrounded the elevator. Here, she was depicted in her role as mother of Lord Gwyn's children. In fact, it looked like some of the statues had originally been mother-and-child figures. The children had been removed, but nothing had been done to correct the Goddess' pose.

Lex looked away and stepped on the raised panel. Some mechanism echoed from deep within the shaft, and the chains began clacking upward. After a short ride and finding himself surrounded by even more eerie, vandalized statues at the top, the cleric stepped into a small cave illuminated by a bonfire.

"Oh, thank the Goddess! Now I don't have to worry about being reborn in Izalith and explaining myself."

He sat at the fire and let his aching legs rest. As always, an unknowable time passed before he rose to continue. Fortunately, the remainder of the journey was simple. Though a strange power lingered on the air, Lex merely had to force his body to climb a winding cliff. Through light fog. In the dark.

Thin moonlight streamed over the forest while insects sang their nighttime songs. Everywhere Lex had been in Lordran had been trapped in perpetual day, though hours had different. It was unnerving for the sun, the very symbol of Lord Gwyn, to be absent so suddenly. The thin moonlight was no comfort, and the fog nearly hid its shape.

"Goddess, may your light guide me instead."

Even without his holy eye, the prophet could make out the Parish rising over the grand basin. As he rose, he also drew closer to it, the path slowly making its way around the rim. It took longer than he would have liked, but Lex did eventually reach the top.

There was a strange flower there, chiming faintly and pulsing with a brilliant white light. He was curious, but as he knelt to examine it, he heard a rustling from the forest beyond. For the first time since his rematch with Quelaag, he actually drew his shield. The light was to his back now, both the dim moon and the shimmering flower.

Cautious, he stepped into the darkness. The cleric pointed his wand back and forth defensively. As he turned down the path to the Parish, something crept out of the dark of the trees' canopy. It had the shape of a man but with a bulbous head that widened at the top.

The thing rushed at him, then stopped immediately, too perfectly. It raised its arms in a familiar motion. Lex stopped himself halfway to kneeling, too late to avoid the pair of whips which tore his robes. The cleric slapped his cheeks to clear his instinct to accept punishment. Whatever that was, it wasn't a holy authority. He wouldn't yield his back so easily.

As the figure lashed again, he batted the whip away with his shield and rushed ahead while chanting. As always, the blast of Berenike's power shattered his foe – but this time, it was literal. The effigy of branches and twigs fell to pieces. Its basic form held together thanks to well-tied vines, but a great deal of plant detritus had been blasted across the nearby trees and stones.

It was a golem – a servitor created with an ancient art of sorcery. What sort of jaded grandmaster would use such a rare and powerful technique to create a trivial servant like this? Perhaps worse, what had defeated that ancient master, that a golem would run wild like this one? Perhaps most concerning…

"Isn't this that blue gunk I spat up? What's it doing here? Was the sorcerer who created this golem overwhelmed by their humanity?"

There was something faintly disturbing about the golem – about the whole forest. It reminded him of the Deep, of wicked things slumbering just below the surface of holy water. He didn't think he would get much in the way of memories from a golem, but he chose not to even try reading it. Quickly, Lex hurried down the path, following the lights of more shinng flowers.

At last, he stood before a surprisingly elaborate entrance to the oldest part of the Parish. The columns were an old style which had been in use in antiquity, marking this entrance as one of the oldest human structures in Lordran. Why did the Parish open to this overgrown forest? Everything he'd seen in Izalith – in hell itself – had made sense. Why was this darkened wood so much more frightening and mysterious?

The cleric grumbled and entered his mistress' temple. The interior was wide open and had been supported by many great columns in the past. Now, like the great underground chamber where he'd fought the sewer dragon, the roof was held up only by the gods' superlative architectural techniques. The columns were strewn about the room, which spanned several levels with several wide staircases. It was no mystery as to what had destroyed the pillars – the culprit sat in the midst of its ruin.

Ahead was the creature Oscar and Solaire had mentioned, the monster of black stone which held a catch pole. It was facing away, but Lex wasn't sure how its eyeless, earless slab-for-a-head sensed movement. He certainly didn't have the stamina to cross the room in a single sprint. He'd need to think of how to avoid it. The one-legged creature couldn't move fast, but it could jump a great distance in a single bound and could hurl its strange, sorcerous lightning.

He thought quietly. When he and the others had encountered one in Izalith, they had been pressured for time. It was resistant to Quelaag's blade and even her flames to some extent, but was that all? Was it acceptable for the Chosen of Berenike to let some unknown monster idle among the ruins of her temple?

Lex went to his pouches and slipped the red tearstone ring on his right ring finger. A red tearstone was said to be a blood tear of Goddess Caitha, shed for the undeserving dead. Well, there were also those who said Goddess Caitha was a demon or that she was Goddess Velka trying to earn new worship.

"Maybe I should ask the Goddess when I see her again."

Lex crept on his toes until he was nearly behind the monster. It shifted slightly and tilted its slab over one shoulder as if to stare at him expectantly. He began his attack hymn, and the long haft of the catch pole swung backward. He dropped to a squat and unleashed the spell.

The monster didn't react. It merely turned on its good leg and smashed its bladed ring into the stone. Lex sprung foward and stabbed his wand between its ribs before firing again. Cracks formed along the surface of the stone, but it didn't seem to care. It swung its pole back toward him.

In spite of his holy eye, the prophet still wasn't experienced and misjudged the distance of the angled weapon. He dodged late, and the haft cracked against his skull. The tearstone thrummed with power, singing in tune with the specter of its wearer's impending death. A surging force flooded Lex's body as he unleashed his third and final shockwave.

The violet energy was tinged with the red of the tearstone's magic, pushing back even the impassive stone beast. Still, impressive as the miracle had been, Lex was in trouble. He was having trouble keeping his eyes pointed the way he wanted them. Blood oozed steadily from his left temple. Frankly, it may have only been his undead resilience which had kept his head from bursting like a grape.

While the room seemed to spin around him, he tried looking past the monster to the other doorway. Something white caught his eye, but then the figure was gone. Was it even safe to continue? Should he try to flee? With the way things were going, he wasn't sure he could keep the floor still long enough to run. Even if he could escape the monster, the odds were pretty good he'd fall off the cliff and into the basin.

"If I die, I guess it's better to die defending the Parish."

The monster leapt toward him, the catch pole falling like thunder.

"Fool. Should you protect a place or its people?"

Somehow, a figure in white stood before him. A shining pillar of light tore through the roof, striking the monster to the ground. A burning hole smoldered through the center of its torso.

"Resigning oneself to death is the first step to hollowing. Have I judged wrong in my Chosen Undead?"

The figure turned about with a dancer's grace, bare feet sliding over the stone like ice. White robes beneath a mantle which shone like virgin snow. Rivulets of midnight-black hair framing porcelain skin in the shadows of an ivory hood. A leaf-shaped clasp of obsidian and silver held the garments together, an emblem of the black diamond parting midnight seas. In one black-nailed hand was a book bound in black leather.

Lex dropped faster than the monster, though the blood loss certainly helped. His forehead pressed into the stone until it imprinted on his skin.

"Rise. It is troublesome to speak with a worm."

"At once! My lash is ready if you have need of it, my lady!"

The cleric stood at military attention – or at least what he had read was attention. He didn't dare speak. He had seen her feet on the floor. Touching the floor. This was crow wearing her shape. What had he done to warrant a personal visit?

"What have you done to your binding, prophet mine?"

Her voice was subtly unsettling, now that it wasn't being projected by crows. It was precise, mechanical. There was no echo to it, in spite of the vast stone chamber. Chills ran down Lex's spine, and he felt a phantom pain from his missing vertebra.

"Binding, my lady?"

"You know of what I speak. Produce that which you have removed from your body."

Lex immediately withdrew the broken bone and held it out to the goddess. She tilted her head to look at it, and Lex caught sight of sharp black lips frowning beneath the hood.

"You are a danger, now, you must realize. You have broken the shackle of Anor Londo. I know not who taught you this secret, but that fool has doomed you. No mere god may stop me from erasing this sin, but so long as their king is in Anor Londo, he will restore it. The Blades of the Darkmoon will come for you."

Lex's eyes widened. Acting against the overzealous rules of the Way of White was one thing; defying the gods themselves was another. He had only read of the Darkmoon in secret texts, which yet still said very little. The gods' order of assassins, the merciless blades of retribution.

"My lady," the cleric begged, "I have done nothing intentionally! I broke my back, and when I sought to heal it, my magic removed the bone as a foreign contaminant!"

"It is. All Men are born with it now, but it is an unnatural growth, an gods-crafted link to the bonfires. My sincere congratulations, Lexion. Without the Flame consuming your souls, you are now as slow-aging as the gods. Effectively immortal."

Lex stuttered something, but couldn't find where to start.

"Did I not bless you for your wits? Where are they now?"

"My apologies, lady! If I am unaging and undead, what do I have to worry about? I'll just be careful about hollowing, and-"

"Will you? I saw you resign yourself to death just now. That is the first step to hollowing. If both your arms are broken, fight with your teeth! My Chosen does not bow to any but myself! When the Darkmoon come for you, take their eyes for the arrogance of assaulting _my_ Prophet!"

"Yes, my lady!"

Lex almost saw her eyes, but something caused him to look away. The fiery color of Quelaag's left eye became tainted by blue-black bile. After a moment, it took the violet shade of the goddess' miracle, just as Lex's original had.

"There is one further matter I wish to discuss with you, child," she said, smiling. "Your next trial is Sen's Fortress, the Fortress of Repose. A warrior's repose."

"Certain death."

"Indeed. It is a gauntlet given to Man by the God of War, that precocious child. 'The Man who conquers this Fortress is more worthy of my attention than all the paper-pushers of Anor Londo.' What an amusing king he made."

Lex's eyebrows quirked.

"Why did he fall from grace, my lady?" he said carefully. "It seems you still think highly of him. Who else but you could erase the name of a god?"

The goddess smiled faintly.

"You, like he, underestimate the power of politics. Humans have done as much. Erasing a name is not so difficult if one is clever. Answer this: who built New Londo?"

"It was your great husband, Lord Gwyn, though I do not know what could have made him trust the Four Kings."

"Oh, who told you this?"

"Why, you did, my lady. 'A great capital of undead below Anor Londo,' no?"

The goddess laughed three times.

"No. I said, exactly, 'the King of Anor Londo.' I wonder, which king was it? Are there kings of which you are not aware? Who is king now, and why does he allow Lloyd to lead the humans?"

Lex froze. Were the gods really as filthy as humans?

"I understand, my lady. I will meditate on this new insight."

"See that you do. As for the Fortress, I will grant you no special boon or knowledge. I merely warn you that you will die many times if you are not cautious. When I ordered my Great Champion gather knights to hunt my archnemesis in Anor Londo, a mere handful escaped the Fortress. You may find their remains there. Use them as you please."

"I will not shame your name, Goddess."

"That is not possible, my child. Now, can you walk?"

"Of cour-"

Lex thought better of acting tough in front of an all-seeing goddess.

"Maybe not."

The goddess seemingly turned without moving her limbs.

"'Andre,' I believe you call yourself, aid me!"

"Ah! Just a moment!" a gruff voice echoed out.

With something to compare, the unnatural clarity of the goddess' voice became unnerving again. Lex resisted the urge to shiver.

A massive, white-haired man emerged from the Parish-side doorway. Andre was easily the most muscular man Lex had ever seen, though perhaps he also ate a little too well. He wore only bland slacks, with leather gloves and boots. His chiseled torso was completely exposed, covered in burns and blade scars. A wiry beard and ponytail ran into one another before trailing down his front and back.

"I beg your pardon?" he called out.

"Don't be cute," the goddess said flatly. "Carry my servant to the bonfire above. I shall be displeased if he bleeds out after I've personally rescued him."

The man nodded.

"Mm," he grunted. "Of course, your ladyship."

Andre didn't blink at the goddess' presence. He simply hustled down the stairs and threw Lex over his shoulder.

"Up you go," he said, laughing.

The man bounded up the stairs without consideration for Lex's aching head. The goddess followed silently. As much as the cleric had difficulty seeing straight between the bleeding skull and the bouncing, he could tell the way his mistress moved was unnatural. Her feet touched the stone and moved her robes, but her head didn't bob. It remained perfectly level, as if she were riding a cart with perfectly even wheels.

Through the doorway, they entered a much smaller room. There was a furnace, an anvil, material, and an absurd stockpile of weapons stuffed into one corner. As Lex's vision drifted back, he saw a great deal of Balder equipment under a pile of more recent works. Unused, even their capes and skirts were mostly intact. Now that he looked more carefully, he saw even the distinctive greatshields of the Berenike knights.

Lex lost track of them as Andre started up a narrow, spiraling staircase, and the speed of the bouncing nearly caused the cleric to black out. After a moment, the bouncing stopped again, and the enormous blacksmith thrust Lex down in front of a bonfire.

"There you go! Awfully brave of you to take on that titanite demon; just don't overdo it! Knowing your limits keeps you from going hollow."

He stroked his beard for a moment.

"Ah! I nearly forgot to introduce myself. I'm Andre, of Astora. If you require smithing during your attempt on the Fortress, then speak to me."

Lex blinked. That was absolutely not an Astoran accent. He wasn't sure what it was, though it sounded vaguely Thorolunder.

"Sure, thanks," Lex said uncertainly.

He reached out to the bonfire and let the healing flame wash over him. As his mistress reached the top of the stairs, he noticed the same strange effect he'd seen in the blighted swamp – the bonfire began to pull toward her. The cleric tactfully chose to ignore it.

"My lady, I believe I'm well enough to continue. Do you have further need of me?"

He turned from the fire and knelt before the goddess.

"The least I could do is to see you off, my child. The path forward is perilous indeed."

"My lady! I'm… touched. You came here to warn me of the danger and are even attending my departure. You do so much for a servant who is not even a priest."

"Let us walk," she said, motioning with three fingers.

Lex began toward the archway opposite the bonfire. They were still below the Parish, but a long stone bridge led away from it, toward the peak of the mountain on which it had been built.

"The breaking of your binding," the goddess began, "was a matter of grave importance, true. It will remain so as long as you live, unless you should be forced to regrow it. Yet I have not been blind to your pleas. Your faith in the face of being offered that which you greatly lusted after shall be rewarded. I shall do as you have asked – and more."

"I get wings?" Lex said excitedly.

"Not yet, child. They shall appear when you are ready. Like so."

The goddess stopped, and her robes shifted. Bone spurs emerged from her back, rapidly growing into thin, nightmarish wings which almost looked more like claws. A moment passed, and black feathers emerged from them. Four raven wings, just as on the shields of the Berenike knights. Without so much as flapping them, she rose from the ground.

"What lies below, Prophet?"

They were midway across the bridge. Though the running water could scarcely be heard, Lex knew there was only one possiblity.

"The River of Tears, my lady. Named for Goddess Caitha, whom I suspect to be another of your forms."

"Splendid. Correct on both accounts. I have many names, each more false than the last. Caitha was a name I used to great effect before that diligent Morne discovered I was not his 'maiden' alone. Nevertheless, this river marks the boundary of my reach. In truth, I risk much appearing even so near, but I suspect my enemies in Anor Londo are otherwise engaged and will not notice I have crept so close."

"My lady, you are beyond gracious-"

"Enough. I have come here for a second purpose, one which could not be delegated to mere crows or my Pardoner. You have made one mistake, my Prophet, and I must correct it immediately."

"My apologies! Just name it, and I'll-!"

"No. The task would be too cruel for you now."

Lex quickly went over all the _many_ mistakes he'd made. There was only one obvious one, of course.

"Please, no, my lady!"

"I will answer your prayer, child. For your faith in resisting the temptations of the demon Quelaag, I will not slay her, nor the sister she loves above her own life."

"They're just people! Demons are just people!"

"Yes. They are gods and Men. But the Lord Soul must be returned to the Flame. I swear on my name that I shall not harm the people if they but return the Soul peacefully."

"Didn't you just say your names were all false?" Lex shouted.

The goddess smiled wider than a human mouth would be able, showing her teeth. A moment passed, and the smile kept spreading. Unlike Quelaag, she had two distinct rows of otherwise normal teeth.

"You're learning. Now go, lest I rescind my mercy."

Lex's face clenched up. He took a deep breath, then crossed the river. As he made his way to the far side, he felt the goddess' withering gaze on him, so he didn't dare even look back.

The stairway up from the bridge led to a short deck before the fortress gate. The eerily dark forest surrounded the bridge on both sides from the Parish to the Fortress. Distressingly, it was still daylight on the side further from the heart of the forest.

Lex swallowed and tried to ignore that too. Ahead, the Fortress was a menacing structure of long-worn stone, carved directly out of the mountainside. A three-part heavy iron gate stood at the top of short stair, the middle panel open into interminable gloom.

The cleric reluctantly climbed the stairs and entered. His physical eyes needed time to adjust to the lightless room, but he immediately began looking around with his second sight. There were a number of amphorae on either side, and-

He felt his foot sink beneath him. He froze. Rash movement could-

An iron bolt the size of a man's arm shot through his stomach. A second and a third followed immediately. Lex fell over, dead.

From the middle of the bridge, the goddess rubbed her temples in exasperation.

"Father, I sorely lack the patience for this…"


	26. In the Name of God

Lex awoke with a start. Again, he was in the darkened room where the titanic Goddess Caffrey dwelt. This time, his mind was fully intact. Though he was still on the table with the dolls, a silken pillow the size of a building was beneath him. His mind raced.

"Goddess Caffrey!" he shouted, sliding down to the table.

He heard her gasp.

"You're asleep again! How wonderful! I have not had so many visits in so long!"

A distant white mass churned. The goddess had been sitting in bed, the covers pulled over her head. Even as she revealed herself, the sheets fell over the large object she had been hiding each time Lex saw her. The goddess sprang out of bed and practically bounced to the table where he was waiting.

"You seem distressed," she said, looking _through_ him with her subtly-wrong eyes. "Is something the matter?"

"Goddess Caffrey," the cleric said, kneeling, "my lady Beryf will destroy the people of Izalith if I can find no way to stop her. Please, if you have any means of doing so, help me save them. It's my fault they've fallen under her eye."

The look on the goddess' face was grave. Her features seemed to grow longer, older as she thought.

" _Emelon_ cannot be stopped, not even by _Adar_."

She must have noticed the slight grimace on Lex's face, because she quickly brightened again.

"Yet there may be a chance! _Muinthelon_ taught me to watch carefully, and I have seen _Emelon_ 's weakness! She avoids _Sîdh Arod_ like a shadow. He is not a kind man, but he may help you if you use my name."

" _Sîdh Arod_? Seath the Scaleless? Goddess Beryf did say to never trust the White Dragon."

"Yes. _Sîdh Pentalagril, Arod Anorlond._ "

"Seath the Scaleless, Duke of Anor Londo. Got it!"

The cleric bowed low, but not quite as low as he had to Beryf.

"Now I just have to get through Sen's Fortress. Wait, actually… How do I wake up? Can I just hold my breath until I pass out?"

Caffrey tilted her head.

"Can you not dive through the Dark as your Lords do?"

"No, goddess. Even if someone possessed that ability, they would be put to death for it."

A look of horror spread over Caffrey's face.

"That cannot be! Is that not the design of the Ringed City? To serve as asylum for those whose Dark souls are too powerful to be fully sealed? Who would-"

Her bones creaked as she grew even larger.

"By whose orders is this done? Who defies _i Axan Balan_?"

Lex tried not to meet her eyes now. They burned, red and blue alike.

"Go, _Lestion_ , seek the wicked Duke. I must speak with your Lords."

The goddess took a nearby candle and held it before him. She blew on it, and the smoke wafted over his face. He blinked and coughed, but when his vision had cleared, he found himself back in the Parish.

He heard the hammering of the smith below, but there was no sign of any goddess. He wore his tattered red robes rather than the white ones he's worn in Caffrey's presence. It was like he had been daydreaming and had only just snapped back to attention.

How long had he been dead? Quelaag had been confident in Izalith's defenses, but could the demons really hold out against the Queen of the Gods? As a matter of brute strength, he had little doubt. Only, why would anyone do so, least of all wise Berenike?

He had to reach Anor Londo and Duke Seath before Quelaag was assassinated.

Lex took off across the bridge again. He practically flew up the stairs on the far side. Mere traps wouldn't get the best of him. The prophet opened his holy eye wide and called upon the memories of the blood staining the floor.

He screamed. Many human heroes had attempted the War God's challenge during his reign. Still they came after he was exiled, and still they came as the Curse of Undeath began to spread. True heroes one and all, those hopeful of earning a place in the halls of the gods.

Their numbers were too great. The prophet couldn't guide his vision; as soon as he escaped one set of memories, another would take its place. He died again and again until his heart stopped.

Lex woke with a start. He swallowed in spite of his dry mouth.

"Okay. Never doing that again," he whispered.

"Please, there must be something," he heard Caffrey saying.

The cleric quietly climbed up to the edge of the pillow. He let his body sink into the feathers and out of sight. Fortunately, his robes seemed to be sewn of the same shimmering white silk, providing perfect camoflage for everything but his hollow face.

Over the edge of the pillow, he saw a creature speaking to the goddess. It took a moment for its shape to settle into his mind. _That_ was a pygmy. A hollow stood before the child deity, fully grown, yet only as tall as she was.

The pygmy stood ramrod straight and proud in spite of his size. As a hollow, his face looked wretchedly aged and wizened, but his features were noble. Even though he had the same sinister hooked nose and curled lips of Carim, his brow showed compassion and his jaw, a sturdy resolve.

His head was utterly bereft of hair, but the low-set crown of aged bronze he wore made him look like a tonsured monk. He wore robes of emerald green, with golden threads forming patterning vines and suns across its surface. A simple red mantle protected the robes, dripping blue-black Dark ooze.

"Mine apologies, Lady. It is our duty to protect you… Even from the truth, should it beeth required."

"By whose order?"

"Lady, it hath been the wish of every King of Anor Londo that you lie undisturbed."

"My comfort is of no concern! People are dying! Who is this Allfather Lloyd? What has become of _Hanar_?"

The pygmy grimaced.

"That man… hath been exiled, his name erased."

"By whose orders? _Muinthelon_ would never do that!"

The goddess' pale skin was flushed red with anger as she huffed and puffed to no avail.

"Forgive me. I cannot say. The King's Decree outweigheth any order you give, Lady. Keeping you safe is our first and last duty."

" _I Axan Balan?_ The King's Decree? It is already broken! We are meant to shepherd the humans! Not lead them to slaughter! Where is _Muinthelon_? She would never stand for this!"

"Please, calm yourself!" the pygmy said desperately, kneeling. "If I could tell you, I would. Yet, the truth would do you great harm. I know not how you came upon knowledge of the waking world, but you must forget it, for your own sake."

The goddess puffed herself up. Only, she kept growing as golden motes flowed around her.

"No!" the pygmy yelled, reaching for her but abruptly stopping himself. "You mustn't remember! I will do all I can! I would use up this life in your service, but you must forget!"

"Forget what, Lord Ludleth?" Caffrey said with a voice too large for her body.

"Please, Your Highness, calm. I can answer no questions which would cause you remember your pain. I am not without mine own furies. You know not of Lloyd because he is a fraud. A necessary deception, it is said. It is not a matter one such as I can influence."

"I see," the goddess said, deflating. "You are over-kind in your hint, Lord Ludleth. You risk much in telling me so plainly. If a Pygmy Lord may not influence the affairs of Man, then a god of no little power stands in your way. Anor Londo has betrayed the humans and misinterprets _i Axan Balan_ to their own gain."

There was a deeply sober look in Caffrey's eyes. She took a deep breath.

" _Lestion_. Can you hear my voice?"

Lex froze. After a moment, he realized there wasn't much point to hiding. He turned about and slid down the side of the pillow. He took one knee before the goddess.

"Hail, Lady Caffrey."

"I am surprised to see you again so soon, _Lestion_. I would be pleased… but has no one told you that eavesdropping is terribly rude?"

"My apologies, goddess. I didn't want to interrupt."

"An undead… impossible," the Pygmy Lord muttered.

"He came from outside, Lord Ludleth."

"From the Depths of Humanity? What manner of creature beeth this undead?"

" _Lestion_ , please, introduce yourself."

"I am Lexion of Carim, former Deacon of the Cathedral of the Deep, now Prophet of Her Highness Beryf."

"Of the Queen-Dowager?" the pygmy said thoughtfully. "Small wonder. Yet things must be direr than we thought. I scarcely can believe the crow would appeareth 'fore the Age of Fire was-" He stopped suddenly before awkwardly continuing, "Well, it is a secret. No matter. I am Ludleth of Courland, Pygmy Lord by grace of Great Lord Gwyn."

Ludleth made a formal bow, which Lex awkwardly returned.

"Lord Ludleth," Caffrey said, "I do not know who has done these wicked things, and it seems that you cannot tell me. Then I command you by the name _Lían Merilîg Ariamîdh Araniel_ to defy this usurper as you are able. _Lestion_ does not serve me, but he is a churchman. He can act in my place, and _Emelon_ 's authority will take him far. Awaken and prepare what you can to help him."

"As you will, _Araniel_."

The Pygmy Lord bowed, then stepped back. The space around him rippled like heat haze. That familiar blue-purple ooze seeped from the very air. The pygmy fell over backward with a disgusting splash and vanished.

Caffrey turned to Lex and said, "I do not wish to sound uninviting, but why are you here so soon?"

"I overused my power, and it killed me, I guess."

The goddess frowned.

"Killed? Do be careful. I will send you back at once, but you must be cautious. The Anor Londor you seek may already be gone. Do not dally on your journey to seek the duke. I pray he holds to the old oaths and does not follow this false Allfather."

Lex nodded.

"Wait. Who do gods pray to?"

Caffrey smiled faintly as she took up a candle and walked to Lex's table.

"There are powers in this world beyond even us. Luck is one such power. _Emelon_ taught me its secret name. She may one day tell you. Maybe I will give it in her stead. For now, do not worry. Trust in your luck. Goodnight."

The goddess blew on the candle, and the smoke swept Lex away again. Just as before, he stood next to the bonfire. More than a little anxious over the time lost to two deaths, Lex sprinted across the bridge and back to the gates of Sen's Fortress. This time, he merely looked through the stone and shadows.

There were amphorae which had once stored grain along the walls, and the ceiling was upheld with square pillars. At the base of the pillars was some long-worn seal with four branches, which uncomfortably reminded Lex of his lady's four wings. Just after the gate was a pressure plate which would trigger a repeating ballista hidden beneath the stairs just ahead.

"Lloyd's sword! A ballista? For human targets? The God of War doesn't play around."

He looked ahead and saw an ambush lying in wait. While a traveler might be distracted by the paired statues of Lord Gwyn's Silver Knights standing on either side of the passage ahead, a guard waited in the shadows next to each.

The guards were hulking brutes who wore only tattered trousers and countless bronze medallions depicting eyes about their broad necks. More hideously, the necks kept going, arcing steadily upward to end with the head of a viper. As if their fearsome, scale-covered bodies weren't enough, they carried wooden bucklers and great cleavers of rusted iron. Each would be more than a match for a man who tried to push through with brute force alone.

Lex wondered faintly how Oscar and Solaire had fared, and the answer simply came to him. He saw their spectral echoes enter the chamber. The outlines of the guards moved from their hiding places and attacked both knights at once. The Astorans quickly realized they were outmatched and retreated.

As the snakemen followed, Oscar deliberately stepped on the pressure plate, killing one of the pursuers with the ballista. With only one enemy between the two of them, the second guard fell easily to the knights' flanking attacks.

"That's one way of doing it," Lex said, covering his mouth thoughtfully. "The weapons of the War God, hm?"

He had an idea of how large the fortress was from the churning memories just below the surface. There was a bonfire somewhere near the roof, but three attack miracles wasn't getting him anywhere close. He needed to learn how to use a weapon or to learn a miracle which wasn't so draining. He considered using the basic Force miracle to push the creatures to their deaths on the Fortress' narrow walkways, but that was very risky for someone as poorly coordinated as he was.

At last, Lex settled on a plan and took a deep breath. Without warning, he burst into a sprint. The snakemen hissed a warning and moved to attack, but instead of waiting, the cleric barrelled through. He ducked under a cleaver the size of a fattened calf and charged up a staircase. Before the guard could pull the oversized blade free of the wall, he'd already slid around the corner and toward the main path.

The next room was an enormous chamber which occupied the bulk of the Fortress. It spanned a vast number of storeys. Above was an enormous clockwork of bladed pendulums and hanging cages; below was a pit filled with tar and more of those mancatcher golems. The walls were consistently bladed, all of them rusted and some broken or covered in the tattered remains of a previous victim.

"How in the seven hells of Izalith did Solaire get such a good opinion of the God of War?"

Lex ran down the main path, just left of the room's center. It was a narrow walkway, slick with mildew. To make matters worse, several of the pendulums swung over it, just barely missing the stone. Each such blade was longer than a peasant's hovel. Again, the sheer amount of iron the gods could waste made Lex's merchant blood boil.

He skidded to a stop between two sets of timed pendulums, catching his breath. His pursuers had paused to pass carefully through the pendulums, but he could advance no further. Another snakeman waited on the other side of the next set. Its shield was raised, and it took a broad stance to block his passage through the swinging blades.

So the Fortress wasn't just mechanical traps. Little wonder it held up the Goddess' forces.

The first snakeman passed the last pendulum and began to raise its sword. Lex quickly snapped his lash across its broad snout. It recoiled, and the cleric kicked its sturdy abdomen. The creature was unhurt and had barely retreated a step from such a weak attack, but that one step was all Lex needed.

The pendulum swung back, and a blade the size of a demon's horn splattered the deacon in gore. He _really_ needed to bathe. If only Lautrec hadn't interrupted Domhnall about that waterfall.

The second snakeman halted immediately. Instead of risking the pendulum, it did as the rearguard had, moving to block Lex's path back.

"What, you think you can just starve me out? Because undead don't-"

He gave a stuttering yelp as lightning struck him from behind. Slightly twitching, he turned to see another variety of snakeman standing on an upper path. It was one of those hooded snakes of the eastern deserts – a cobra. This monster was smaller than the other two, only the size of an ordinary man. Yet it had four arms, three of which were armed with long, wavy blades which would easily peel skin from bone. In its free hand, electricity crackled.

"Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?! Humans have to use relics of the gods to focus miracles! And Lord Gwyn's lightning was lost to everyone except the War God's crazy cult! How the topless spider-devil can snake monsters shoot lightning out of their bare hands? This is heresy even I won't stand for!"

The monster responded by shooting him again. Frankly, there was nowhere for Lex to go. The viper-men were blocking his paths through the pendulums, so the cobra could leisurely pick him off. He grit his teeth.

"Suicide's a sin, right?"

He jumped off the path. Someone stronger might have survived the fall into the tar pit. Of course, they would have been forced to contend with the golems, so it hardly mattered. Lex awakened once more in Caffrey's dimly-lit chamber.

" _Lestion_? Again? Please, do not tell me your journey is so fraught with peril."

Lex sighed and slipped from the pillow to the table. Caffrey joined him without hesitation.

"There's nothing I could have done. I just had back luck."

"Impossible."

"No, it was just-"

"You do not understand."

The goddess frowned.

" _Lestion_ \- No. Lec- Lecks- Lexion. Lexion."

She knit her fingers worriedly, pausing for a moment.

"I have played a trick upon you. I granted you my blessing though you had refused to serve. Since we spoke that time, you have borne the full weight of fate. Have you not noticed peculiar circumstances to your benefit?"

The strange circumstances Lex had experienced in the Valley of Drakes suddenly made sense. Well, they didn't, but they did have an explanation now.

"That thing in my back, then?" Lex said, pointing with his thumb. "You broke it for me?"

"I do not know what you speak of. I merely ask the humanity to show its favor. However it may do that is beyond me."

"There was something in my back. An extra bone. My Lady Beryf said it was a 'shackle of Anor Londo,' a link to the bonfires which made humans mortal."

"To the… bon…fires…"

Caffrey seized up and slowly clutched her heart.

"Goddess Caffrey, are you-?"

"I am… _i Hebre Arianar_?"

"Goddess Caffrey!"

"I can feel them, Lexion… the bonfires. I'm remembering! I may be able to help Izalith's undead."

The deity stared at her own hands.

"I need more time. I'll warp you to your home bonfire. Try to stay alive, Lexion. Nothing is without cost, and I have a bad feeling about undead dying."

"I'll be careful. But what about the luck thing?"

"Luck is luck. It is not all-powerful. It is the world's call to action. The earth, the plants and animals, they bend easily. Machines are often too reliable to change, and people make their destiny."

"Right, so it's not much help in a Fortress full of traps."

"I apologize that I can do no more. Yet give your luck opportunity, and it may take flight. Goodnight, Lexion."

"Goodnight, Goddess Caffrey."

Caffrey blew over another candle, and the smoke swept Lex back to the Parish. He sat at the bonfire and mulled over his options. After a few minutes' thought, he performed the short rituals to exchange his miracles and hurried back to the Fortress.

This time, he did as Oscar had done and baited one of the guards into the ballista. He ducked under the second guard's cleaver and hurried back to the main chamber. He pretended to hesitate at the first sequence of pendulums, and as the guard neared, he finished his chant.

 _Hear the gods' drums of war for the battle_  
 _That Havel marches toward_  
 _Stones raised as sacred ward_  
 _Crush the dragons for the Lord_

A colorless shockwave burst from the talisman, blasting the snakeman off the walkway. In spite of its fearsome hymn, Force didn't harm those it struck. For that reason, it was taught to young clerics as a nonlethal means of protection. Still, it was powerful enough to knock an unsuspecting warrior off their feet. Over a fatal fall "nonlethal" was a blatant lie.

Lex sprinted through the first line of pendulums, paused, then ran through the second before the guard on the far side could cut him off. As an abridged miracle, Force could not only be recited quickly but activated quickly as well. The snakeman was in open air before it realized the intruder was a cleric.

"Goddess give me-!"

Lex screamed in terror and forced his legs to go faster than they'd ever gone before. He'd run at the snakeman too quickly and not risked the last set of pendulums. Yet in spite of the extra burst of speed, he wasn't going to make it. Suddenly, his foot slipped on the slimy stones. His body wrenched out from under him, falling just below the pendulum's pointed end. He slid to safety with only a fraction of a second standing between him and a bloody demise.

"…luck? Holy… luck."

The cleric laughed uneasily, lying among a pile of Silver Knight statues in a narrow hallway. Had the Fortress not been finished, or had the Fort's challengers moved the statues for some purpose? Frankly, he was too tired to care.

After a few minutes, he finally got up and rounded the stairs to the next level. Another narrow path, another battery of bladed pendulums, another snakeman in the way. Now, Lex was not exactly exactly good at planning ahead, but he did possess the keen judgment Berenike had favored. The real trap was expecting this path to be like the last. This was the lightning-wielding cobra, and it would certainly shoot to stun him while he tried to run past the pendulums.

Lex crouched in the hallway. There were a number of "windows" looking out over the chamber. Quietly, he loaded his crossbow, crooked it in a window, and shot the snakeman. The shoddy wooden bolt just barely pierced the monster's scales, but it still drew blood. The cobra hissed impotently and ripped the bolt free. As if to make a point, it shot the window with lightning even though Lex was perfectly safe behind the wall.

The cleric crept under another window and did it again. Again, the monster snarled and attacked the offending window. Lex went back to the first window. The cobra attacked that window, then quickly turned to the second window. Lex shot from the first window again.

The snakeman stamped its foot in rage but still didn't move. Its slitted eyes went from one window to the other, its head bobbing in time. While it was looking away, Lex made a dead sprint through the first row of pendulums. There were only two this time, but the cobra stood directly in the doorway to the passage beyond. As it turned to face him, Lex shot again. The pendulums crossed over the bridge, and Lex rushed ahead again, straight toward the snakeman's blades.

"Can't stop the Rock!"

A Force wave knocked the cobra into the chamber behind. As it stumbled backward, it stepped on a pressure plate. Just as before, three man-slaying bolts fired from the wall behind. The snakeman fell onto Lex, who nearly stumbled back into the pendulums. He made a face of disgust and threw the body to the floor.

He was in a storage room, it seemed. More of the Silver Knight statues stood around pointlessly or had been knocked to the floor. Beneath the slit for the ballista was a chest. Lex almost felt giddy, finding his first treasure on his grand adventure. Only, it was merely a couple of unrefined ore fragments. He sighed and tucked them away in a pouch.

The next room held a bridge which crossed over a lower path. Fortunately, the viper guard had fallen asleep. Lex quietly made his way past, arriving at a fog wall on the far side. He wondered what sort of powerful soul had blocked the way. Still, he couldn't afford to waste time and pushed through.

A viper ran past as he emerged. It scented him immediately and whipped around to face him. It hissed a warning, but as Lex stepped back, a boulder ran over it. Apparently, it had been fleeing the speeding rock. It looked like the guards weren't _too_ intelligent. Still, they were durable, and this one was actually getting up despite having been crushed.

Lex spared a glance the way it had come. He didn't see anything, but he heard a dull rumbling. Looking in either direction, both the flat landing the viper was on and the stairs in either direction had a deep groove. The rolling boulders were frequent. As if on cue, there was a loud slam, and Lex saw another one appear at the top of the stairs. He lashed the viper on the nose to stun it and retreated back into the safety of the doorway.

The second boulder finished off the monster, so Lex took the opportunity to look around with his second sight. There, beneath him. That must have been the warrior producing the soul fog. Mighty indeed, the man sat idly, dangling his legs over the side of the Fortress while the corpses of more vipers lay nearby. The prophet grinned and waited for a third boulder to pass. This hero was his ticket to Anor Londo.


	27. Dread and the Fugitive Mind

The boulders apparently just rolled off the edge of the Fortress and into the spooky forest. Lex was surprised that the mountain hadn't been quarried into rubble if they weren't retrieving the stones. How much labor could the gods afford to waste? It was frankly disgusting.

The bottom of the stairs led nowhere, but there was a ledge on its side going all the way back to the mountain. The Fortress was definitely unfinished, it seemed. Lex wondered darkly if the God of War had run out of money or if he had been exiled early in his reign as Lord of Sunlight.

Ahead, the cleric saw the great warrior. He was a so-called "onion knight" of Catarina, named for the peculiar armor they wore, which looked like a collection of onions belted together. In truth, the white-washed bulging armor was tremendously effective at turning blades, which helped against Astora's better-trained knights by countering their excessive love of swords.

The Confederation of Catarinan States was the eastern half of the long-shattered Western Thoron Empire. In fact, Catarina was still ruled by the elected Emperor of Thorolund. The Emperor, of course, had no power over the city of Thorolund or the Holy State ruled directly by the Allfather. Indeed, the Allfather was a thorn in the side of many an Emperor.

Frankly, Catarina was rapidly becoming a secular state, and the politics between the city of Thorolund and the still-faithful Kingdom of Astora made things awkward. This led to many Emperors seeking allies in Astora's traditional enemy, Carim. That in turn led to a number of departures from the Silver Rites, even among those Catarinans who still respected the gods.

For example, this knight was wearing a blue tearstone.

"Hail, faithful disciple of Caitha!" Lex said, raising his hand so that the red stone on his finger glinted. "How goes your Undead Mission?"

"Mmm?" the knight hummed, suddenly looking up. "Oh-hoh! Forgive me, I was absorbed in thought. I am Siegmeyer of Catarina, and it is a pleasure to meet a follower of the Mother of Mercy here."

The knight hefted his bulging armor and stood, dusting himself off.

"Quite honestly, I have run flat up against a wall. Or a ball, to be precise. I'm afraid I'm a bit too plump to be outrunning those things."

The knight's voice reflected a jolly, even-tempered man. Still, Lex focused hard on not smirking. Catarinan love for food and drink was somewhat infamous.

"A pleasure to meet you! I am Lexion of Carim, originally a deacon, but called to Lordran to serve Her Ladyship as prophet."

He gestured to his discolored eye and hair for emphasis.

"Surely, with her vision, there is a way to help you ascend the Fortress."

"Oh, indeed! I could not have imagined such good fortune as to meet another worshiper of Caitha here of all places."

Lex quietly began to wonder how much of his success had been due to dumb luck, Caffrey's blessing or not. He looked at the side of the ramp. Judging by the level spot, the knight must have exited the fortress as a boulder was rolling down and thrown himself off the side to avoid it. The cleric whistled sharply. The Catarinan might not have been particularly quick in either sense of the word, but it took an incredible durability to fall the height of three men and then kill several snake monsters.

"Yes, wonderful fortune! We must thank Goddess Caffrey as well. For now, though, let's turn our thoughts to getting out of here. When we reach Anor Londo, we can thank all the gods. Well, I have to speak with-"

Lex almost let slip that he was going to seek out the White Dragon in spite of his goddess' advice.

"-it's complicated. But I'm sure Goddess Caitha will appreciate your devotion. Speaking of appreciation, seeing all the spikes and cages in here makes me think she really should have hugged her son more."

"Oh? So Sen was the son of our lady Caitha?"

"No, Sen is a euphemism. And maybe a pun."

Lex thought quietly about the likelihood of "Sin's Fotress"

"Anyway, I don't know what the god's name is, but 'sen' is a regular word in the gods' tongue. Not that I know much of the language. I've been picking it up from conversation. Sometimes the gods forget to translate words they use frequently. Usually titles or nicknames."

The knight's gasp echoed through his wide onion helm.

"You've spoken with the gods themselves?"

"Yeah!"

Lex began counting on his fingers. Berenike, Caffrey, and Quelaag for sure. He could probably count Quelaag's sister and the Witch of Izalith. Seeing the God of War in Quelaag's memories probably didn't count. What about that _Adar_ creature? Lex was getting distracted.

"I think technically five, but none of them are going to help us get past this trap. Let me use my gift of vision."

"Mm. I should be grateful that such a blessing would be used for my sake."

As Lex turned to go, the knight hefted his sword over one shoulder, a weapon the Catarinans called a _zweihander_. It was as long as a man but not merely a crude slab of iron like the serpentmen used. It was often used as a hybrid between a sword and a spear and was considered a heavy weapon to be deployed against cavalry and spearmen alike. That the onion knight could easily carry it one-handed was a testament to his great strength.

On his offhand was a peculiar Catarinan buckler. Typically, a buckler would be a light, often wooden, shield for reflexive blocking and parrying. This was a sturdy steel bowl which resembled an onion just as the rest of his equipment. Further, there was a large spearhead in its center. This was a shield designed to complement the slow, heavy zweihander with quick piercing attacks.

It seemed that while Astora held the advantage in training and holy artifacts, Catarina focused on their industry such that their equipment was second to none.

Lex stood at the end of the ledge, watching the stairs upward as another boulder passed. He saw ancient heroes racing against the stone. This was no tremendously difficult trap. The way ahead seemed to be simply the next door up from the entrance. The stairs went higher to a storeroom, and a cobra stood there, prepared to snipe those who approached or to ambush those who ignored it.

The prophet watched both the real boulders rolling down and the phantom images of heroes avoiding the boulders of long ago. Oscar and Solaire seemed to have had no problems outrunning them. But what of a heavy knight like Siegmeyer?

Lex focused his vision, searching for the heaviest, slowest hero he could find. Coal-black greaves ground into the stone. A entire platoon of Berenike Knights marched up the stairs, a company of Balder Knights pouring out behind them. At the head of this awe-inspiring formation stood four men of legend.

There was King Rendal the White of Balder, who sailed to Lordran in search of the God of War. There was King Oswald the Pure of Carim, who declared the gods had betrayed Man and invaded Lordran itself. There was Black Iron Tarkus of the Northern Limit, who wrestled a god and won. There was… Kirk of Thorns? The notorious killer, Darkwraith, and apparently Chaos Servant. Well, they were all heretics, if nothing else.

Lex didn't have time to be distracted by the Thorn Knight's presence. The boulder rolled toward the group, and Tarkus stepped forward alone. His battered greatshield was made from the black iron of the heavens, sacred siderite, and shod with shining silver. An elaborate monogram was embossed on the front. None would fail to recognize the name and sign of Tarkus.

The boulder came, and Tarkus braced. Behind him, the Berenike Knights raised their own four-winged tower shields overhead. The stone rolled over Tarkus' shield and onto the Berenike Knights'. At once, four of the superhuman knights heaved and threw the boulder over the side of the stairs.

"Well, that doesn't help me at all." He turned back, continuing, "Siegmeyer, if I tell you when to run, do you think you can make it back to the first floor? If it starts to get risky, dive back over the side. I can at least heal the damage from a fall."

The knight nodded.

"Hmm. I wish we had a more certain plan, but there can be no harm in trying. It is certainly better than waiting for the supply of boulders to become exhausted. So be it! On your mark!"

Lex watched the next boulder descend with his second sight. He was growing stronger and had a keener sense. He could judge distances and speed with exacting precision (when he was paying attention).

"Mark!"

The boulder hurtled off the bottom of the stairs just as Siegmeyer surged forward. The knight huffed and puffed, bulbous armor clanking heavily. The next boulder slammed down on the top of the stairs. Yet in spite of Siegmeyer's sluggish pace, he had more than enough time to reach the first level.

Lex realized it now. Cowardly knights weren't exactly uncommon, but men who possessed such tremendous strength were. It was possible that Siegmeyer had protected his lands purely through the reputation of his physical might. If Lex could build the knight's confidence, he'd have quite the impressive bodyguard. He waited for the next boulder, then rushed up to join Siegmeyer.

"Alright! That wasn't so hard. You ready to move on?"

"Indeed! My blood is boiling after such daring! Sen's Fortress does not seem so insurmountable after all!"

Lex's eyes narrowed. If this out-of-shape and cowardly knight could get this far on the Undead Mission, what had happened to that group of legendary knights? Had Oswald retreated to the Parish with the Balder Knights? Why was Kirk there at all? Certainly, he was originally from Carim, but his hatred for Berenike was-

No, that was it. His hatred of the goddess must have something to do with the assault on the Fortress. Or worse. Something he saw in Anor Londo beyond. "The Anor Londo you seek may already be gone."

"I'll go first. When you see me move on, go ahead and take my place. I'm going to split off and take out the guard at the top of the stairs so he doesn't follow us. Can I trust you'll clear the passage?"

Siegmeyer pounded his chest.

"You can count on this knight of Catarina!" he cried, laughing.

Lex nodded and waited for the next boulder to pass. He dashed up to the next level, finding the doorway blocked by soul fog. If it wasn't Siegmeyer who was making it, he wondered what the origin was. Still, that was a matter for the knight to solve; his objective lay upward. The next boulder rolled past, and he dashed toward the snakeman. The cobra hurled a bolt of lightning, but Lex juked to one side and bowled over the monster with Force.

He quickly slipped past and into the storeroom behind. Before the creature could react, he shoved it out of the doorway. The next boulder dropped onto it with a sickening crunch. Still, it twinged and tried to rise. Before it could, Lex kicked its tailless butt, sending it flopping down the stairs as its unbalanced and unnatural body retained momentum.

The cleric tried to ignore the sound of squelching he'd soon hear from the next boulder running it over. Instead, he focused on the storeroom, which seemed to be pointlessly full of Silver Knight statues. Frankly, he wasn't sure where they would even go. In the back, though, he found some equipment which had been left behind by the Balder Knights.

The memories on them were hazy and gray, the last sights seen by knights on the edge of hollowing. They weren't the ones to move the equipment to the storeroom. Why would they be? The snakemen – the manserpents, rather – had collected the weapons, armor, and accoutrements after the attack on the Fortress had failed.

Among them was a steel ring with intricate engraving. In the mesmerizing whorls, Lex saw the links of a chain, a bell, and something he couldn't quite recognize. Letting his vision flow with the memories of the ring, he saw the last moments of its owner.

"You would betray the gods?" Knight-King Rendal had said.

"The gods have betrayed _us_! Just as you betray everything the Son of Gwyn taught you!"

The attack on the Fortress had gone horribly wrong. Lex watched through the venerable king's eyes as the Balder Knights died _en masse_. These would be their final deaths, driven to despair by the conflict. A titanic shadow cast one man from the rooftop after another. Kirk and Oswald, both agile fighters, tried to attract its attention so the surviving Berenike Knights could regroup. At last, Tarkus tore his sword free of Rendal's body and turned to face the monster head-on.

Lex slipped the dead king's ring into a pouch and hurried back to rejoin Siegmeyer. The first room on the second level was… confusing. There were chains hanging from the walls and ceiling but not connected to anything and without any sign of prisoners. Still more Silver Knight statues stood around pointlessly, as if the God of War had mistakenly commissioned far more than could fit in the Fortress but still had to find somewhere to keep them. There was a rectangular hole cut into the wall where a dumbwaiter run up and down without carrying anything.

Lex's eye caught another bolthole in the wall, but it seemed the ballista had already spent its ammo. Siegmeyer was absent, so he continued through the narrow hallway to the next room. He stepped over the sunken pressure plate which led to the previous trap as he passed. The next room had the useless chains as well but only one statue.

Another manserpent lay dead on the floor, a single large gouge running from shoulder to hip. Siegmeyer sat on a wooden chair far too small for him. He was humming pleasantly to pass the time, the three man-slaying bolts jutting out of the back of his armor.

"S-Siegmeyer, are you alright?"

Sure, undead were resistant to pain, but this was absurd. Lex was having trouble finding words in the face of such… was there even a polite way of phrasing it?

"Mm? Oh, Lexion, there you are. I'm sorry for pushing on ahead of the plan, but I wanted to show that I could conquer more than an empty room."

"But those bolts…"

"Oh, this? It was a dangerous situation for certain. An enemy at the fore and no room to maneuver. Fortunately, my armor took much of the blow, and some estus dealt with the rest. I'll have to wait to remove them until we reach a bonfire."

Lex closed his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands as if to wash off the absurdity.

"Here, I've got a… a miracle for that. Just try not to flinch. It's not exactly gentle."

"A wound-cleaning miracle? I've not heard of such a thing. Is it a mystery of the Carimin Church? I cannot imagine a miracle so useful to the battlefield remaining secret. If it is not too difficult to teach, would you mind sharing it? I am by no means a great miracle-worker, but I have ordained to serve the people of my lands."

Lex thought briefly before responding. It would be more difficult to lie to a cleric, no matter how half-baked.

"It's a lost art the Goddess led me to rediscover. I must apologize, but it is a forbidden form which encroaches on the domain of the gods. I cannot teach it without permission."

"No, that is quite alright! It is more than enough that you would be willing to use such a miracle to heal a stranger such as myself."

Lex nodded and summoned the shadow fish. Fortunately, the bolts were stuck in Siegmeyer's back, so he wouldn't notice the specral wrasse. Of course, Lex couldn't let on that a "miracle" was running automatically, so he watched the fish carefully and moved his arms as they steadily pulled the bolts free. At last, the iron lengths clattered to the stone floor, and the fish popped into inky residue. Lex wrapped up with a Heal miracle to close the wounds.

"There we go. You'll still need your armor patched up, but it's a little too early to go back to Blacksmith Andre in the Parish, I think."

Siegmeyer stretched, testing his back.

"Good as new! You have this knight's eternal gratitude, Lexion!"

"Don't worry about it. We're fellow pilgrims, right? I'm only doing the duty of a cleric. Now, have you seen what comes next."

"Mm. Unfortunately, we are about to become reaquainted with our old friend, the boulder. The path ahead is a winding stairwell. I cannot tell whether we must go up or down, and we must avoid the rock in either direction. It is a quite a pickle. I had sat down to weigh our options."

Lex nodded.

"A wise decision, Knight Siegmeyer. Let's see if our senior pilgrims left any hints."

He grabbed his face and held his left eyelids open for dramatic effect as he used his otherwise quite subtle power of vision. The assaulting knights had waited in these two rooms while the agile Oswald had charged ahead. With a speed Lex could hardly believe was possible, the ancient king dashed up the stairs in the brief space of time between boulders. There was a mechanism on the next level which directed the stones down one path or another. The way to the rooftop led through that control room.

"I can see that we need to go up, but I don't think either of us can run fast enough to make it."

"Should we descend instead?"

Lex's sight flew out to explore the Fortress, but it didn't have to travel far.

"No, there's an alternate path. We're going to run up the stairs. When we get to the broken pillar, we're going to jump off the side. There's a wooden platform there, where one of those serpent priests is waiting to ambush pilgrims. Can I trust you to take care of it?"

"Have no fear! There could be no greater honor than protecting a prophet on pilgrimage to Anor Londo!"

Lex smiled. That was it. Subtly adjust his language. Speak of "we" instead of "you"; ask favors instead of giving orders; assign duties which are impossible to fail. These were all merchant tricks for building trust and confidence.

After the next boulder passed, he followed Siegmeyer up some short stairs into the main stairwell. They turned right and hurried up until they heard the boulder ahead. The timing was a little tighter than Lex would have liked, but they reached the broken pillar and jumped to the platform below simply enough.

The rickety planks groaned and sank beneath the sudden impact of two grown men, startling the cobra-headed manserpent. It tried to stun them with lightning, but Siegmeyer crashed through the bolt and hacked across its torso. The guard fell off the platform, only to be crushed by the boulder as it made its way around.

"Well done," Lex said.

"No, I only did what was expected of me."

Siegmeyer looked in either direction. The decaying wooden platform led both to an actual passageway and to a hole broken in the wall.

"Mm. Should we explore the way opened by our predecessors or follow the true path?"

"I must confess I have urgent business in Anor Londo. I intend to take the direct path to the roof. What about you? Do you want to split off to explore? I'll leave markings along the way so you can follow."

Threaten to abandon a companion but make it seem like a choice. That will make them less likely to second-guess your decisions.

"Certainly not!" Siegmeyer said, panicking. "I would not leave you to face the dangers of the Fortress alone. By all means, lead on."

Lex nodded and headed into the passage. While most of the fortress had decayed so that the bricks were exposed and the mortar moldy, this inner tunnel still had most of its plaster covering. They rounded a corner and went up some short stairs to find a room which made the hairs on the back of Lex's neck prickle. It was almost like the dead end in the sewers where he'd almost been drowned or petrified by a basilisk.

This room was dry, though, and in the center of its floor was a wooden grille spaced widely enough that one's foot could easily fit through. Beneath was merely the chamber where Siegmeyer had been waiting. A corpse lay nearby, sprawled out as if slain while fleeing – a sorcerer of Vinheim's illustrious Dragon School.

Perhaps it was fairer to say that the Dragon School ruled Vinheim. After all, "nobility" was originally just the descendants of whatever band of armed men had first staked a claim on the territory. Why couldn't sorcerers do the same?

In any case, this seemed to have been an elite, judging by the dark collar. Only, Dragon School's robes were customarily green. Lex wasn't sure what to make of these black robes. Though Carim had been invaded by Vinheim in the past, that had been centuries ago. Raids still came, but the sorcerers of the Dragon School very rarely became pirates (and those who did certainly didn't wear their school uniforms).

The body was long hollowed. There was no telling how long it had been there or what had driven the sorcerer to abandon life. Well, ordinarily. Lex touched the dead man's brow and gazed into the past.

The black robes were no mere badge of honor. The students of the Dragon School must always be ordered of mind in order to keep their sorceries focused. They would always wear their uniforms, even while afield in foreign lands. As such, even the School's assassins required a uniform. The black color was a concession made to stealth and the only aberration in the strict order of the uniform.

The legendary sorcerer Logan had become undead. Those too old to continue living also lacked the strength of soul to become undead. Whether Logan's death had been an accident or an "accident", the old sorcerer had departed for Lordran as undead were ordained to do. In leaving, he took some of the deepest secrets of the Dragon School and other techniques he had not yet deigned to share. The School could not allow these to reach other nations. Logan must be eliminated.

Three spooks had followed him to Lordran. One had been caught up in the pogroms of the Undead Burg. The other two had successfully caught up to him in Sen's Fortress. They had manipulated the traps and guards to ensure his capture, then sealed off the part of the Fortress which held him. Only, they weren't as stealthy as they had thought. One had been captured, and the other was hunted down until he had been slain here and hollowed from desperation.

Lex reached into the inner pocket of the assassin's robe. There was a scroll explaining as secret sorcery. This black-robed elites departed from the School's traditional soul manipulation and instead controlled sound. While Lex wasn't sure what use the ability to silence his footsteps might have, it didn't hurt to simply study the spell.

He turned to Siegmeyer and said, "There may be others imprisoned here. I'll keep an eye out, but let's move on."

The knight shook his head pitifully.

"I shudder to imagine being kept in such a place for long."

They took the nearby staircase upward. Iron bars and a gate should have barred their passage, but someone had left the gate open so long it had rusted in place. Beyond an arch was a walkway over a third staircase ground down by the rolling boulders. The walkway presumably led to whatever room was above the entry to the previous level. Whatever was there didn't matter, as the staircase led directly to the mechanism which was launching the boulders.

Lex and Siegmeyer descended a small stair to the large one and entered the mechanism room. Though it was said that a knight of Catarina possessed a left arm made of clockwork, Siegmeyer was just as amazed by the enormous gears as Lex was. The cleric looked down the staircase. Strangely, it ended in the room where just before the first stairs. Had the bottom of this staircase been missing?

He looked closer, peering through distance and darkness with his holy eye. That was almost definitely the same lazy guard napping against the wall. Strangely, the floor on which the guard was standing seemed indented. After a moment, he realized – the boulder's path had originally led through the wall behind the guard. That was where Logan had been imprisoned.

"Siegmeyer! I've seen it! One of our fellow pilgrims was imprisoned behind a false wall. If we can figure out how to use the gods' machine and set the boulder on this old path, we can free him!"

"Oh! Isn't it just this lever? See, it is pointed in the direction of the firing piston."

Each boulder entered the chamber through a hole in the ceiling. It landed on a plinth in the room's center, and then a piston the size of a battering ram fired it down the spiraling staircase. The knight pointed to a lever emerging from the central plinth. There was a piston on each wall, and sure enough, the wooden handle was pointed toward the one which was firing.

"Well," Lex said, slightly deflated. "Ah! Well done, I mean. Let's get this aligned."

The cleric really just moved out of the boulder's path but did nothing. The brawny knight heaved the rusted mechanism to the matching setting. The pair watched with vague amusement as a boulder was hurtled down the central staircase. After they heard the sound of stone crumbling, Siegmeyer pushed the mechanism back the way it had been.

Being careful not to fall, they hurried down the stairs. Just as Lex had thought, the stairs didn't properly end. Either they hadn't been finished or else the bottom had been completely removed. While an acrobat could easily scale the side, knowing that a path existed at all was a greater hurdle.

The two dropped down, and Siegmeyer finished off the guard. What lay beyond the false wall was a chamber full of hanging cages. There was no ceiling, and the dim sun shone on the scene of horror, countless undead left to hollow in captivity. This part of the Fortress looked incomplete. The boulder had continued along its path to a point where the Fortress simply stopped. There was neither a wall nor another chamber ahead, and the boulder simply fell into the forest below.

Above were sturdy steel beams which held joints for pendulums that weren't there. Eight rivets surrounded the unfilled joints, like a twisted sun on which iron death would hang.

"Mother of Mercy," Siegmeyer whispered.

"Don't force yourself. I can check for survivors on my own. Every cleric's seen a few tragedies – bodies already too ruined to heal."

The knight shook his head.

"No, I can look away no longer. I must engrave this scene on my heart. We undead cannot die, but we may face worse fates."

Lex nodded. Frankly, Siegmeyer following would make looting Logan's corpse more problematic. Still, he said nothing but gradually made his way through the gallery of hollows. At last, he came upon something different.

"Mm, you seem quite lucid! A rare thing in these times."

Lex blinked. It must have been years since Logan had been imprisoned, yet there he stood. It was impossible to mistake a hat as wide-brimmed as a wagon wheel. "Big Hat" Logan, the eccentric Grand Sage of Vinheim, was apparently still alive.

The infamous hat was the sort traditionally associated with witches, and certainly, Logan was considered with similar scorn by the academic body. Still, he was a soul sorcerer and seemingly knew nothing of witchery. Rather, the antisocial magician found by accident that the hat was spectacular at ending conversations. It his his entire head, save the bottom of his white beard, and had effectively become his identity.

"I am Logan," he said awkwardly. "I'm a bit cooped up, as you can see. I have a bright idea. Suppose you set me free? I'm old and empty-handed, but I could repay you with my knowledge and sorcery. This place is melting my mind! The inactivity is repressive."

"Frankly, it's a miracle your mind is still here," Lex said, crossing his arms. "Still, don't you feel silly now? After so grandly declaring the gods don't exist, here you are."

Indeed, Logan was more than a heretic among sorcerers, who rejected the traditions of the Dragon School. He was an _actual_ heretic – or apostate, more accurately. A materialist who had gone too far and believed the gods were… something else. Really tall humans.

"That statement is always taken out of context! Of course the civilization of Lordran exists! Even Anor Londo probably exists, as we may soon find. I merely hold that the clans of the so-called Gwyn and his allies lack the properties attributed them by the Way of White which fundamentally separate them as divinity. It is merely a reversal of the same social forces which paint intellectually-backward pyromancers as demons."

"No, there are actual demons. I've killed-"

Lex began counting on his fingers.

"I do not doubt that either! Yet they are merely monsters created of warped souls. You must understand that is the core of my thesis. There is no special meaning to anything. There is just souls. The so-called gods have powerful souls and were benevolent in the past. Just the same, the demons were malignant during that time. Our shared Thorolund-derived culture has merely caused the histories of that era to spin into fables."

"No, like…"

Lex wondered how much he could admit to having seen while Siegmeyer still thought he was a traditional cleric.

"…for example. There was a witch, but instead of legs, she had a giant spider. And it spat lava."

"I see nothing there which cannot be achived through the deranged practices of pyromancy. It is well-known that its biological component is epochs further than what is possible using modern sorcery. Artificially grafting two living creatures into one is merely a more difficult version of an unethical practice already widespread among necromancers."

Well, Lex had already known that. Demons were just combinations of existing creatures, and Quelaag was of course just a combination of a goddess and some breed of giant spider. He was frustrated. It would be a simple matter if he could just describe the Goddess, but her being in Lordran was a secret.

"I don't have time for this!" he grumbled. "We're going to finish this later! Where's the key to get you out of the cage? I need to punch you in your smug face."

"It would seem, fortunately for my face, that the guards have taken it elsewhere. I had not much time to explore before I was taken captive. You're more likely to know its location than I am."

Lex grumbled and tapped his foot. He'd already wasted time coming down here in the hopes of looting Logan's corpse. Since the man was alive against all odds, he was a problem. He would have his own goals and wouldn't necessarily stay around to help. Worse, the soft type like Siegmeyer would complain if they just left the old sorcerer now that they'd found him.

"Worry not!" the knight said on cue. "We shall spare no effort in freeing you!"

Lex made a sound of exasperation that was probably more appropriate for a demon.

"Siegmeyer," he said, "is there any way you could bend the cage a little? Maybe pop the lock off?"

"Mm. Mmm… Oh-hoh! I do not think any man could bend reinforced steel like this, but I have a plan which will at least save Sage Logan from this dungeon."

"I'm all ears."

"If you've need for another mind," Logan said, "perhaps plotting my escape will help easy my restlessness."

"Well, it is surely not as complex a plan as Sage Logan would concoct, but I think it will be our only option until we find the key. Lexion, could you please collect a good length of chain? Preferablly longer than I am tall."

"Sure. I can probably grab some on the level above."

"Now, Sage Logan, if you are as prone to nausea as I am, I recommend you close your eyes."


	28. Life Burns

Lex struggled with all his might not to call the situation stupid. When he'd returned with the chains, he found Siegmeyer had twisted Logan's cage round and round. The spiral had worked its way to the top, and the chain which held it up was straining from the torsion. With a final great heave, Siegmeyer caused one of the links to snap. The onion rolled backward and only avoided falling off the platform by keeping a firm hold on the cage.

"Oh, heavens," Logan moaned as he twisted upright in the toppled cage. "You have purloined my prison, Knight Siegmeyer, but I sincerely hope you do not intend to _roll_ me to the top of the Fortress."

"You need not worry, Sage Logan. I will ensure your passage through the Fortress is as comfortable as I am able."

"That did not answer the implied question."

Lex quietly realized this was how he seemed to others. He made a silent vow to himself to be less cagey when it wasn't part of an actual plan. While this was going on, Siegmeyer had set Logan's cage upright again. The knight took the chains from Lex and began looping them through the bars.

"Waitwaitwait! That is no way to tie a knot!"

After securing the chains himself, Lex handed one of the chains back to Siegmeyer.

"Well, I didn't think we'd just be dragging the cage, but I guess it's not too difficult of a journey if we redirect the boulders again. The stairs are pretty worn; they're _almost_ ramps."

"Oh, no," Siegmeyer said. "I would never delay a cleric on pilgrimage. Here, let me have that."

The knight took the second chain. He took one in each hand and looped them a couple of times before approaching the cage.

"Pardon me, Sage Logan."

Siegmeyer backed against the cage and then squatted. He pulled the chains taut.

"Heave ho!"

The knight rose, wearing a steel cage with a full-grown man inside as a backpack. Amazingly, he didn't tumble over backward and seemed quite stable in his footing.

"There!" he said, quite pleased with himself. "This should find us to the rooftop without delay."

"By the celestial spheres!" Logan said, stroking his beard. "This should not be physically possible. The mass alone would- So this is the result of an undead's ability to stockpile souls to achieve power beyond human ken. It is quite hard to measure subtle changes to one's own intelligence. It would be quite interesting to record the progression of one such as yourself, Knight Siegmeyer."

"If this knight of Catarina could be of help to you once this journey ends, I should relish it. Yet first, we must reach Anor Londo to complete our pilgrimage."

With that, the three set off. They wouldn't be able to climb back up to the main stairway leading to the control room, but taking the long way wasn't difficult now that they knew the trick.

"Ah, the Undead Pilgrimage," Logan said. "It is a convenient excuse for sticking one's nose where it doesn't belong. I had hoped to reach the Regal Archives, if they are half as impressive as they are in legend."

Lex's eyes went wide. The Regal Archives of the gods were kept by none other than Duke Seath. There was his ticket. Surely, Berenike would not be suspicious of him seeking knowledge with a sorcerer of legend. He could keep his discussions with Caffrey a secret; he wasn't just suddenly getting the idea to go to the Archives out of nowhere.

"Well, I'd be careful smarting off like that," Lex said, hiding his enthusiasm. "It's fine in this pit, but it's probably a bad habit to have in Anor Londo."

"Very true, if the city is not altogether abandoned. It is one thing to abandon the human settlements below. It is quite another to leave their defenses attended by these serpent abominations. These creatures are nearly the monsters of pyromancy horror stories."

Lex nodded, adding, "Demons are created when a human or god wants the power of an animal. The example given to me was a farmer and an ox."

"Interesting. Who told you this?"

"Err- Uh- There was this- Uh-"

"Ah, no reliable source. Speculation."

"No, it's… just… I, uh…"

"Spit it out if you're going to!"

"I might have… caused a civil war in Izalith. On the plus side, we probably won't see any more demons while we're in Lordran."

Before Logan could say anything dismissive, Siegmeyer broke in.

"Incredible, Lexion! I have heard it takes a great many knights to defeat even a single Chaos demon! If they war amongst themselves, it could save many lives! No wonder you are favored by our Lady of Tears!"

"The political situation in the defunct demon capital aside," Logan said, having not believed a word, "there is the matter of these serpent creatures. They are soundly unnatural. For what purpose did they take such ungainly forms and how? Why do the gods employ monsters while they abandoned their faithful in the Undead Parish just beyond this Fortress?"

The old sorcerer paused and stroked his beard. It was impossible to judge his expression under the drooping hat.

"Lexion, was it? And a Carimin accent. You are a cleric, are you not?"

"I was a deacon, yes."

"Good, you have most of the knowledge but aren't yet intractable as a priest. I could use the perspective of one within the Church. Are you familiar with the tradition that serpents are imperfect dragons?"

"Of course. And symbols of the undead. They shed their skins and devour prey much larger than themselves."

"A textbook answer. Try to use your imagination for this one. What would become of an undead who thought too much of himself and presumed that because undead are immortal, they must be close to everlasting dragons?"

"An imperfect creature transforms imperfectly. I've seen it before. The demon leaders were gods who tried to become like dragons. Being gods and not undead, it halfway worked, I guess. They definitely had stone skin. Why do you ask? You think the God of War was leading a dragon cult?"

"I do not presume to think anything without suitable evidence. It is only a hypothesis, but I imagine that whatever god staffed this Fortress realized that mere undead guards would eventually hollow and become useless. These serpent abominations may not be clever, but they're certainly enduring."

Lex was slowly sliding back into the heretical curiosity that had gotten him killed. First drakes that could breathe lightning and now snakemen who could wield it with their bare hands. And of course, that enormous drake on the Parish bridge had ignored Solaire. The God of War had the heart of a witch, Quelaag had said. Lex wondered exactly what the War God had done to earn the destruction of his name. Was it because he had _succeeded_ where the Firesages had failed?

There was no more time to mull it over now, as they'd made it back to the control room without incident. Even slowed by the cage on his back, Siegmeyer had been able to outpace the boulder on the stairwell and make the jump down to the platform. Now the knight set the control to hurl the stones outside, through an arch which had no connecting path. They simply crashed into the mountainside where they could do no harm.

"This is a marvellous mechanism," Logan said. "If only such technology had been put to practical ends."

Lex couldn't really defend the gods from that criticism, so they continued into the next passage, Lex stopping the group to trigger a pressure plate. Once the bolts had fired, they continued until they reached another pendulum bridge. This one was both shorter and narrower than the previous ones and had only one set of pendulums. The problem was whether Siegmeyer could sprint through all of them while carrying Logan's cage.

"What if I ran across," Lex said, "and then you rolled Logan over to me."

"I would rather you didn't," Logan said flatly.

"Mm. Even if Sage Logan didn't mind, the cage is uneven. There would be too great a risk of falling."

The three men stared across the chasm, stumped.

"So, a little morbid, but…" Lex said. "Is there any reason we can't just stab you? Is the last bonfire you visited in Vinheim or something?"

Logan and Siegmeyer turned to stare at him.

"Okay, it sounds bad but-"

"You don't know, do you?" Logan said sadly

Siegmeyer inhaled heavily, and it echoed in his helmet.

"Allow me, Sage Logan," he said. "I'm certain that you understand it better, but…"

"I wouldn't be gentle? Go ahead. I'll be ready to answer the usual questions."

Siegmeyer took another breath before beginning.

"You have not died many times, have you Lexion?"

"No, I, uh-"

He started counting them on his fingers, but Siegmeyer stopped him.

"That is fine. You have been quite fortunate. Goddess Caitha has watched out for you. You see, Lexion, the gods are generous, but there must be a price for everything. The bonfires could not keep restoring undead forever. They must take something of us to keep going. Tell me, what is the earliest memory you can recall, from your childhood?"

"Well, when I was three, I found… uh… what… what was it? It was so stupid, I never thought I'd forget- oh! Oh. So you're saying…"

"Indeed. The bonfires take our very humanity. If we are not cautious, we can lose the memories which support us most. When that happens, hollowing is not far away."

Lex probably should have been horrified. Instead, he marveled at the incredible power of luck. If he understood his mistress properly, he'd been freed from the link to the bonfires and the consequence of death. Yet if that were true, why did the bonfire still revive him? Once he had some time to himself, he'd need to write down his oldest memories and see if they faded with death.

In the meantime, he needed to react to the revelation. He let a look of subtle horror creep onto his face.

"So all those times Knight Lautrec used me as bait…?"

"I'm afraid that knight may have been acting less than chivalrous."

Lex swallowed grimly. While nothing to brag about, he'd developed his acting skills hiding his knowledge of forbidden lore. They should be more than enough to fool a naive knight and a disinterested sorcerer. Now, he just needed to tickle the old man's ego. The "usual questions," was it?

"Sage Logan, is there nothing that can be done?"

"Nothing yet. The march of progress is ever onward, but the secrets of Flame are elusive. If clerics were to share their knowledge instead of keeping it in sacred mysteries, then perhaps we would have already solved this riddle."

Lex chuckled uneasily, adding, "I know what you mean. Those policies are what led to my death. Goddess Caitha mourns that the Way of White would choose to maintain the status quo when it could help those in need."

"That modern Goddess of Tears, was it? No doubt the creation of the desperate in an increasingly disordered world. I wonder what the historical-"

"Pardon, Sage, but the Goddess is real, though her aspect may be invented as you say. She is one of the ancient gods; Caitha is merely a new name."

"Oh? What basis have you for this hypothesis?"

"I've spoken with her, with Caitha-Beryf-Bereth-Berenike. Believe me, she is no poseur. She granted me a great power and changed her form before me. Even the demons I've seen were not capable of sudden transformation."

"Hm."

Logan stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"That may be true," he said at last. "I should be quite interested if you are willing to introduce us. But suppose that is a matter for later. No deity is helping us cross this bridge."

Siegmeyer hummed on the minor blasphemy but nodded.

"Quite a pickle," he said. "Suppose we lower your cage? Mm. Hmmm."

"That could work," Logain said. "Use one chain to affix the cage to the bridge, then the other to drag it along."

Siegmeyer held the cage in place while Lex tied the appropriate knots. Once that was done, the knight hurried to the other side alone. Lex and Logan watched as he ran one way and the other, clearing the passage of guards so that they wouldn't be ambushed while they were exposed on the walkway.

At last, Lex took the loose chain and dashed through the pendulums. There was just enough slack in the length that it held taught alongside the bridge, without rising too close to the swinging blades. With that, Lex passed the chain to Siegmeyer, who hauled Logan across.

They climbed another level to face another pendulum bridge. This was the top of the Fortress but also the narrowest bridge. While Lex might have have any trouble crossing, Siegmeyer would have to be careful to keep his balance. There were two sets of pendulums at the end, but they looked easy enough to rush through.

The greater problem was a cobra waiting on a balcony. Its blaphemous lightning would be fatal if the shock unsettled its victim's footing. Unfortunately, Logan's arms were fixed to his chest by the bars of the cage; otherwise, they could have relied on his sorcery.

"As sad as it is to say," Lex said, sighing, "I've kind of gotten used to this. So, Siegmeyer, don't panic at what I'm about to ask. I want you to throw me at it."

"Throw you? What do you-?"

"Have you heard of the caber toss?"

The knight shook his head. Logan just snorted. Lex wasn't sure whether that was because the sorcerer didn't know or because he did know.

"The northern giants have a sport about flipping logs straight up. I don't really know much about it, but that doesn't matter. This is the cleric toss. I've already been through it several times. It's not a sin to throw a deacon; the Goddess would have already chastened me if it were."

"Mm. Well, I suppose it is not terribly different from some games for small children. Why, I still remember that my little Lin was so proud I could throw her higher than any of the other children." Siegmeyer sighed before quietly adding, "I'm glad I haven't forgotten that."

Lex nodded, and an awkward silence followed until Logan coughed pointedly.

"Well, if you're ready, just let me get a bit of a running start," the cleric said.

Siegmeyer backed toward the wall as Lex hopped down a few steps. Lex rushed back up, but he hadn't been clear enough in his instructions. Instead of bracing to act as a springboard, Siegmeyer swooped forward. The knight grabbed Lex around his middle, nearly crushing his ribs. Siegmeyer whirled around, setting one foot on the bridge as he threw the cleric sidelong.

Lex screamed a prayer as he shot across the pit like javelin, and a Force miracle formed a protective shield as he bowled right through the guard. The manserpent was stunned but hardly harmed, so Lex wrenched the old knife from his belt and repeatedly stabbed the creature's neck with a desperate fury.

"Okay, we're clear!" he shouted, exhausted.

Lex stood up and walked down the side passage which followed the bridge. There was another bolthole at the end of the passage, facing out to the path leading up. Two different pressure plates would trigger the trap. While he could easily avoid both of them, there was no way Siegmeyer wouldn't stumble onto the second.

The knight hustled through the swinging pendulums and nearly stepped on one of them as he turned to approach Lex. The cleric waved him on and turned around, drawing his shield. Lex pressed the steel against the bolthole just as Siegmeyer stepped on the other plate.

Three clangs rang out as the bolts pounded against the shield. It was sturdy enough to turn the blows, but Lex watched as his arm shook in strain and pain from blocking. He sighed and jumped over the other plate to rejoin Siegmeyer and Logan before they continued upward. A fog wall blocked their view, but it was certain they'd reached the roof.

After a moment, Siegmeyer cleared through the fog, and they emerged from an indoor darkness to an outdoor darkness. The sheer cliffside which protected the city of the gods rose before them, covering the Fortress roof in shadow. The rooftop spread over multiple levels and areas, fenced in by ancient spears, bent and corroded black. As Lex looked over it, he saw them in the past, proud and glittering brass.

Some distance away, on a different part of the roof was a stone-skinned northern giant. He wore an old chain shirt crudely repaired with plates of scrap iron. A similarly crude iron mask covered his face, as the gods' giant slaves were forbidden to show them. To one side of the giant was a pile of boulders which seemed to trail away as far as the eye could see. The giant took one, dropped it in a hole, waited a few seconds, then did so again.

"I guess that explains where the boulders were coming from. It's bizarre that this part wasn't mechanized though. Could have used a timed gate like the pendulums."

"The giants certainly live up to their name," Siegmeyer said pleasantly, his mood lifting now that they'd escaped the dungeon-like interior.

While some Men, such as the Berenike Knights, could mimic the gods and grow to great size through the power of souls, the giants were naturally enormous and would only grow moreso. Legend told of the giant messenger Lessonan, who was so large that he could pass orders from the command tent to the battlefront merely by leaning forward. While this giant was not so earth-shatteringly large, the length of his forearm was greater than Siegmeyer was tall.

"A grand thing to be certain, but do not be impressed by it. It is as any other blessing received without hard work," Logan said.

Of course, the venerable sorcerer couldn't see much past the knight's onion helm, so he couldn't be impressed to begin with.

Lex took the time to gaze back into the past. He was getting better at controlling his vision now. Perhaps Quelaag's eye was stronger, somehow. Berenike's gift of prophecy was bound to his soul, but perhaps it was limited by his human flesh. Perhaps it was a matter of luck.

The prophet wove through countless lives. He saw both the conquering knights and the Astoran duo. A giant from above threw giant-sized firebombs. He wasn't exactly a speedy fellow, so a small team of undead could outrun them (though maybe not Siegmeyer while carrying Logan). He saw where a firebomb had struck a weak point in the wall and blasted away the basing and the fence. The most cautious or lucky undead seemed to drop down from that point.

Ah, that was it. There was a bonfire there. Only, who would put a bonfire in such a bizarre place? He saw it, on a balcony which led nowhere but looped back to the last pendulum bridge. He rolled back the years, hoping to find some sort of sense in the Fortress' design.

That wasn't what he saw.

"Sage Logan, do you know any secrets about…"

Lex hesitated to say it. It was something that no one really thought about. Now he regretted having seen it.

"…about bonfire creation?"

"I am afraid not, though I would be quite interested if given the opportunity to truly study their mechanism. If you know nothing of it, I can only assume it is the so-called 'domain of the gods', which is to say they've kept the knowledge to themselves. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no big reason. I just see a bonfire coming up and was wondering how it got there."

Lex watched the past again in wonder and horror as Kirk threw a screaming Balder Knight to the ground. The Balder Knight's arms and legs were broken so he couldn't resist. In Kirk's hand was one of the bizarre, twisted swords which rose from the bonfires. It burned with an inner light, shining red and green with tarnish.

"O Emerald Lady," Kirk said solemnly, his voice breaking like rust. "You looked upon us withered pygmies not with pity but with love. You poured out your immaculate heart for our sakes. And we returned your love with malice. Let me now commit evil of my own. Take the Dark soul of this sacrifice. Let its deep warmth soothe your slumber, that you might ne'er wake again. In your forbidden and secret name do I pray. Umbasa."

Kirk drove the burning sword through the helpless knight's chest, piercing the heart and the Darksign. The curled blade was a perfect fit in the ring of Fire. The knight screamed in agony and tried to wrench free. Kirk took hold of the sword's guard and began twisting, burrowing the blade deeper and deeper like an auger. The Balder Knight convulsed as his body withered, burning to ash until only bone was left.

The screams stopped, and the bonfire quietly hummed to life. Lex let his vision return to the present.

"Alright, Siegmeyer", he said, "we're going to try and outrun an explosion. A boulder-sized firebomb is going to be dropped on us, but I think we can get out of the way in time. Just follow my lead and don't hesitate when I run off the rooftop. Well, don't take a running leap either. You might miss the hidden balcony."

"Oho! A cleverly-hidden shortcut for the perceptive challenger! As expected of the gods! It almost feels unfair to have your aid in this."

"What is the trick here?" Logan asked. "It appears I've missed a conversation."

"Ah, my apologies to both of you," Siegmeyer said. "I did not mean to reveal anything without permission."

"No, it's fine," Lex said, waving his hand. "Sage Logan, you may find this hard to believe, but I have been given the gift of prophecy by Goddess Caitha."

"Prophecy, you say? I hope you realize of such a power if you truly possess it."

Lex quickly thought on what would concern a sorcerer.

"Predestination, you mean?"

"If the future can be seen, then Men are shackled to the wheel of fate. All we do is pointless."

Lex smiled thinly.

"Well," the cleric said, "fortunately, I don't remember having ever seen the future proper. I can see echoes of the past, the imprints of souls which have passed through a place. I can also get a crow's-eye view of distant places. Being able to spot an ambush and plan for it is even better than foreseeing that you're about to get stabbed, isn't it?"

"Interesting!" Logan said, stroking his beard. "So this is the kernel of truth in the tales of the prophets. Not prescience but clairvoyance. I did not imagine the gods would possess such a sophisticated control of the flow of souls. I wonder if the technique relies upon a discrete remote sensor or if it…"

The antisocial sorcerer's voice had begun to lower in volume as he spoke, until he was just murmuring to himself. Lex gave Siegmeyer a knowing look, and they headed up the rooftop stairs. Sure enough, the next level featured a scorchmark showing the usual target of a massive firebomb. They hustled a little up one more level and casually dropped over the side to the hidden bonfire.


	29. In the Air Tonight

Fortunately, Logan was still able to attune to the bonfire while caged. Lex, meanwhile, tried to avoid making eye contact with the skull resting in the ashes. Assured now that they wouldn't have to make the arduous journey back up through the Fortress if they died, they hurried back up the roof. Lex followed the path of those that had gone before. Oscar and Solaire had hurried through. The Goddess' army had marched steadily onward, shields of black iron raised as proof against fire.

The prophet ignored any distractions, leading Siegmeyer up across narrow walkways that teetered on a handful of pillars which hadn't yet fallen. He ignored where Oscar and Solaire had gone off the path to explore the Fortress; speed was what mattered now. They wound a spiral course up the Fort's roof, the sound of explosions following behind. There began to be some sort of four-limbed mark carved into the pillars, but they were all too worn to decipher.

Of course, Lex just had to take a quick peek into the past. It was a similar sign to the arms on a Berenike Knight's shield. There was a sort of egg shape carried by feathered wings. Beneath the wings were four orbs. The wings themselves sprouted from a four-petaled flower; the egg and orbs mirrored with the second pair of wings below. The cleric had no idea what it meant.

He continued leading the others upward until they approached the topmost part of the roof. There was a building there, a sort of squat chapel with a turret rising from the front. A northern giant stood on its roof alongside a pile of firebombs which were enormous even considering the thrower's size. A hollow Balder Knight with a crossbow stood watch over the winding narrow path upward, but Lex was more confident now, and just blasted it off the roof with a Force miracle.

Inside, there were three paths. A fog wall blocked the way toward Anor Londo; a stairwell led up the turret to the firebombing giant; and another path led to a guard tower.

"What are the odds we can trick the giant into breaking open Logan's cage?" Lex said, leaning against a pillar.

"Hm," Siegmeyer replied thoughtfully.

He set the sorcerer down at last, stretching his shoulders.

"I would rather not risk being crushed," Logan said flatly. "Prophet, can you not search the Fortress for the key with your sight? Or else, could you not observe the past to follow it after my imprisonment?"

"Maybe," Lex said, shrugging. "Problem is, so many undead died here that it's easy to get overwhelmed. I've been following two groups' echoes on the way up. Just searching the Fort for the key outright is like the proverbial needle in the haystack. For all I know, they threw it in the pit beneath the pendulums."

"I hope you weren't expecting much help against whatever beast lies past the fog, then."

"Aren't sorcery catalysts just foci anyway? Can't you… I don't know… shoot beams out of your hat instead?"

"Beams?! _Beams?!_ I command the very flow of souls to-!"

"Shoot beams. It's not clever or anything. It's literally less complicated than throwing a spear, because at least then, you have to keep in mind the mechanics of the human body, the aerodynamics of the weapon, the movement of the air itself, and the reaction of the target."

"Trust a cleric to fail to understand the meaning behind-"

"Now, now-" Siegmeyer said, trying to calm them both down.

"There you are playing up that old stereotype," Lex said, smirking. "Get some original material, why don't you? At least simple clerics have transcribed the wisdom of the gods for centuries – for anyone to use! Even with all the books the Allfather's forbidden, we've been educating the common folk from the beginning! Not hiding all our knowledge in elitist, over-politicized academic libraries!"

Logan quivered under his hat, shaking the bolts of the cage.

"Blast it all! Why do you think I left? That dusty old academy was as repressive as this cage! From one prison to another! Your gods are no better than the Dragon School board!"

"Oh, really? And which set of superiors actually sent agents to solve this Undead Curse? Certainly not the one who sent assassins after you!"

Logan went still.

"My suspicions were correct, then. Heavens. To think this cage might have saved me."

"Well, not exactly. A cage is a better way of getting rid of an undead, isn't it? If you kill them a few times, they'll start to catch on and fight back. They were counting on the boredom driving you hollow."

The old sorcerer chuckled sadly.

"A little cleverer than I thought them capable of. I'll have to give them extra credit if I ever find them in one of my seminars."

He sighed overlong.

"Regardless, I cannot cast sorceries with my arms bound as such. Before you ask, placing my stave in my mouth will not work either."

"Well, there goes my whole plan," Lex said sarcastically.

Siegmeyer chuckled faintly, relaxing now that they weren't about to kill each other.

Lex looked around, one eye in the past.

"Say, Siegmeyer, could I entrust that giant up there to you?" he said, pointing at the ceiling. "I'm going to call in some extra help."

"Oho? It would be a grand battle for you to miss. Have you seen a summon sign somewhere?"

Summoning was a signature trait of undead, a power that had never been seen before and was kept quiet by the Way of White. By inscribing a sign with a special white stone, undead could leave an imprint of their identity in the fading Light. By tapping into these inscriptions with their own souls, undead could summon phantasmal allies made of white light. These undead phantoms would remain with their summoner until the boundaries between their worlds and timelines grew too distant, often at a crossroads of fate such as defeating a powerful enemy.

"More than just a sign," Lex said.

Without waiting for Siegmeyer or Logan to ask questions, he walked out to the guard tower, following the shapes of heroes long gone. This was after the battle. There were scant few Berenike Knights left. The many Balder Knights seemed to be gone. Tarkus, Oswald, and Kirk sat around a table.

"There is no helping it," Oswald said. "I shall return to Her Grace's church and inform the remainder of the knights that they are needed here. Though it pains me to abandon the Parish to Izalith's spawn, we must take Anor Londo."

"They will all die," Kirk said matter-of-factualy.

"Damn it all!" Tarkus roared.

The mountain of a man rose all of a sudden, knocking over his chair. He wore heavy armor of overlapping plates in the style of ancient Thorolund's legions. Accordingly, a long skirt provided extra protection to his groin, where the armor joints were thinnest. The helmet seemed to be newer, an itenerant knight's greathelm, with four eyeholes for some reason. As fireproof black iron was exceedingly rare, most of the suit was probably older than any present-day kingdom, and its battered and torn surface reaffirmed that notion.

"That Rendal! I thought you had assured his faith, Pardoner!"

Oswald smiled bitterly.

"Exiled or not, I am afraid His Former Majesty's own loyalties be torn. I will admit, however, that the late Rendal's actions would not have earned approval. Alas, Rendal had not yet sinned. Even my Lady can sense not the will to sin- only the deed."

Kirk growled at Oswald but said nothing.

"We needed that golem!" Tarkus continued. "Instead, we lost most of our men!"

"Nothing for it, Tarkus," Kirk said, cracking his knuckles. "That just means we've lost the direct route. We'll need to be clever in our approach."

"Fine," Tarkus grumbled. "You spent however long guarding one of those damned cathedrals. You find us a way in."

"Of course."

"Pardoner. Give me the fetish."

Oswald handed over a peasant girl's doll. It was carved of poor-quality wood and was green with rot. It posed ungracefully, a dancer carved by someone who had never seen dancing. It wasn't clear whether the doll's hair was meant to be pigtails or if the rest of the wood had simply broken off.

Tarkus took it and tucked it somewhere under the folds of his armor. He rose, walked to the end of the table before crouching. He reached under his skirts again and removed a stick of white chalk, signing the floor with his distinct monogram.

"There. The golem will not be down for long. Pardoner, when you return, use my sign. I'll finish it off again without losing any men this time."

And there it was. Lex stood before the summon sign for his goddess' Champion, right in front of the chair he had knocked over. The prophet touched it, and the world rippled around him. There was a sound almost like a rusted gate opening, but somehow melodic. A soundless specter of Black Iron Tarkus rose from the floor as if from the surface of a lake.

No, that wasn't right. Wasn't it "the Sea of Humanity"? If it were truly a power born of Light, the gods should have been able to wield it; not merely undead.

"I'm not exactly sure how summoning works," he started, but the knight waved him off.

Tarkus clapped the sides of his helmet where his ears would be and shook his head. Lex made the sign of submission and waited. After a moment, Tarkus nodded and hung his tower shield on his back. He extended a hand to help Lex up while resting his sword on his shoulder. The nightmarish thing was a pair of flat-tipped beheader's blades fused into a single piece with a spine of black iron.

Awed by the demeanor of his goddess' Champion, Lex quietly followed Tarkus back to the main building. Inside, Siegmeyer looked a little banged up but had seemingly won his encounter with the giant. He was regaling Logan with the tale of his victory, though the sorcerer was trying hard not to pay attention. At seeing the silent knight, the Catarinan stopped abruptly.

"Oho! A bold-looking companion indeed! I should think we would have no trouble at all, even should a demon lie beyond the fog."

"By the fundamental forces!" Logan said. "So much siderite, wasted on mere armor!"

Tarkus headed straight for Logan.

"Hold on! He didn't mean to offend!" Siegmeyer said quickly.

The Catarinan tried to grab the legendary knight's arm, but Tarkus just shrugged it off. He took hold of Logan's cage and with a great heave, pulled until the latch snapped off. He opened the door, and the sorcerer stepped out with a sigh.

"Ah, much better. Come now, Knight Siegmeyer. Surely, you must know that phantoms are deaf and dumb. They are merely projections, after all. They can respond to stimuli, but they aren't really here. For all we know, this fellow is long dead."

"You'd be surprised," Lex said. "I know at least two of his companions are still in Lordran. Something went wrong once they reached Anor Londo."

"Interesting," Logan said casually. "They may know something of value merely by being that old. Recorded history is not always historically accurate, after all."

That was definitely a dig at clerics, who were usually the scribes who recorded history. Lex chose to ignore it.

"Alright, so we have Tarkus. _Tarkus_. _The_ Black Iron Tarkus. What are we waiting for?"

"You keep saying that name like it means something," Logan sighed. "Very well. I am ready."

Siegmeyer nodded, adding, "With four of us, they don't stand a chance!"

Lex hurried the others through the fog wall. They found whatever structure had once stood there as rubble. Even the floor was crumbling. The only intact structures were six grossly out-of-place pillars. They were clearly carved by demons from the lighter-colored stone of Izalith. On each side was the symbol of a three-petaled flower, and a draconic-looking gargoyle was perched on the side facing the platform.

Opposite the entrace was a bridge which led to a gate carved into the mountainside. Only, the bridge was in pieces, and the gate had been filled with rubble. Before it stood a behemoth of wrought iron. Its upper body was a bulwark of armor only broken by a distinct, black hole in the dead center. In its left hand was a plain woodsman's axe; only it was as wide and tall as Siegmeyer (and might have even weighed as much).

It swung the weapon in salute, and the sheer force from the swing caused a pile of rubble to explode.

"Logan!" Lex said as he ducked for cover. "There's apparently some way to control it! Can you take a look while we distract it?"

"Perhaps," the sorcerer said, stroking his beard. "I can see some-"

Tarkus charged directly at the golem. There was a tremendous clang as he crashed his beheading blade into its ankle. It wobbled unsteadily, too much weight in its armored upper body. With both hands, the Champion of Berenike drove the sword upward, into the crook of the golem's knee. It fell backward, off the crumbling bridge, and into the forest below.

Tarkus turned around and pounded his chest in salute before vanishing. Quietly, Lex wondered why Berenike thought he was fit to follow after such a hero. In any case, the three men were left to puzzle out how to reach Anor Londo when the gate was destroyed.

"If you guys don't see anything, I'll go ahead and use my vision."

"Isn't it this?"

Siegmeyer touched whatever "this" was before either of the others could tell him not to. White shapes swooped down around the three. Disgusting creatures loomed over them, each twice the height of a man but with long, gaunt limbs. Bloodslicked claws took hold of the men's arms. Even Siegmeyer wasn't able to resist as a pair of the hideous things seized each man and bore him aloft.

Higher and higher, they rose above the sheer cliffside. At last, the slow-flying creatures crested over edge of the the basin, coming at last back into the light of the sun. The clouds burned amber above as the setting sun's light was reflected across the entire horizon. Below was lost Anor Londo, great capital of the gods.

Sunrays fell from the clouds like rain, casting the buildings jet and gold. There was no modest construction in the city; even the little buildings grander than a country cathedral. The shimmering, whitewashed structures danced among the natural wood as if merely part of the ancient forest. Buttresses rose higher than the trees to support towering spires. At the heart of everything was the palace of the Lord of Sunlight, sized to match Izalith's but infinitely grander for the delicacy and artistry of its construction.

Lex shrieked in horror. It was all a lie. The sky was marbled black. A silver sliver of a wasted moon struggled to keep the city from falling into total darkness.

The creatures set the men down atop one of the wall's turrets. There was a winding staircase leading down, so Lex didn't hesitate. He didn't care for the elaborate floral decor lovingly carved into the stairs' railing or onto the wall's arches. He didn't look back in time to see the history of the thistles or the poppies, the clovers or the _fleur-de-lis_. He didn't stop before the great murals depicting the agrarian culture which had once thrived here, the harvested wheat and the fresh bread. He just ran.

Siegmeyer chased after the prophet as best he could without starting to roll down the stairs. Logan merely followed at his own pace. Fortunately, Lex's stamina was nothing notable, and by the time he'd reached the bottom, he was huffing and puffing for breath. Siegmeyer wasn't exactly in shape, but he had to be at least fit enough to move in his armor freely. The knight caught up easily enough.

"Lexion, what's wrong? Certainly, those creatures were unnerving, but they don't seem to have meant us any harm."

"That's not it," Lex said, gasping from exertion. "I'm seeing one thing with my regular eye and one thing with the other. It's what I'm seeing with my powers that's scary. Siegmeyer, what do they say the sun is in Catarina?"

"The sun? It is the symbol of Lord Gwyn's guid-"

"No, what is the sun itself? A ball of fire or…?"

"Hm. Mm. Mmmm."

The knight rubbed the bottom of his helm thoughtfully.

"Ah! No. Mm."

Logan managed to catch up while Siegmeyer was hemming and hawing.

"Heavens," he said. "First the running and now you've stopped. What is the trouble _now_?"

"Sage Logan," Lex said, "What is the sun? The physical body in the sky."

"How funny. I believe this was on the School's list of questions a cleric would never ask. Well, frankly, we don't know. Astronomy is still a budding science. There are few interested in merely hypothetical benefits, and those who practice it are put under direct observation by the Allfather's agents. You can't imagine how hard it is to work while being watched by what might as well be your executioner."

"Fair enough. I'm familiar with that part of the Church. Now, hypothetically, what would happen if the sun just… vanished."

"Vanished? Could you be more specific? I can hardly imagine the sun just up and vanishing."

"No, I can't. Just imagine it suddenly disappeared. Like that forest below the Parish, where it's always night."

"Ah, I haven't been there yet, but it's interesting to learn that the frozen time phenomenon in Lordran is not limited to daylight hours. As you propose, should the world be plunged into everlasting night, everything would die. The world's surface would soon freeze, and even if it did not, plant growth would cease. Starvation for livestock and ourselves would not be far behind. What is this about? Did seeing the gods' city is _merely_ a city fill you with existential dread?"

"No, that's not it," Lex said quietly. "I could tell you, but I don't think you'd believe it. Or you might believe it out of spite, which is worse, I guess."

"If you aren't interested in sharing, then shall we continue our journey?"

"Sure. Let's go."

Siegmeyer put a hand on the cleric's shoulder.

"Prophet Lexion, are you certain that you're ready to move on? I do not know what burdens a prophet may bear, but I can only imagine the mental strain visions must cause."

"I've been alright. Nothing really bad since- well, I don't think anything can scare me more than what I've already seen."

"Well, if you're sure."

The three continued toward the city. Though the stairs had ended, they were still far above the streets where the "commoners" of the gods lived. Some paths were blocked by guards, giant slave-knights in brass armor. These giants varied in size from only slightly larger than a Berenike Knight to the point that they dwarfed even the slaves of Sen's Fortress below. Each was of the ideal height to guard his post.

Their equipment was uniform: in one hand, a blessed halberd and in the other, a tower shield emblazoned with the elk horns which were a symbol of status in the giants' northlands. In spite of their shining equipment and presence in the city of the gods, they could all be identified as giant slaves by their visorless helms and disproportionately small heads.

Only, they weren't real. Each and every guard disappeared when Lex closed his normal eye. Of course, he kept it open most of the time since the darkened Anor Londo he beheld in his left eye lacked any sort of lamps.

There were vases which had once held flowers in a few places, but they were long dry and empty. The white paving stones were gorgeous and clean, but were they clean because no one was left in Anor Londo? The Way of White called Anor Londo "lost" because the road there had been lost to the wicked hearts of mortals. Had it _truly_ been lost, even to the gods?

The three men passed through what may have been a gatehouse but now held only illusory guards, protecting chests tucked in the back of the room. Three mortal men – a heretic, a fool, and an apostate – walked unchallenged into a wide-open courtyard in the city of the gods. A small passage was tucked away to the left. A bridge leading to the Lord of Sunlight's palace was below and to the right. Yet ahead was another such gatehouse and a winding path up the basin's rim to the Regal Archives, shrouded in fog.

"I am afraid this is where we will part, gentlemen," Logan said. "It has been a pleasure, truly. If you should ever be in need of the knowledge of sorcery, I will not hesitate to aid you."

The sorcerer bowed slightly, then continued onward toward the gatehouse. Lex and Siegmeyer continued after him.

"Worry not, Sage Logan!" Siegmeyer said, chuckling. "We are headed to the Archives ourselves!"

"Oh. Splendid! Splendid…" was all the sorcerer could say.

They passed through the guardhouse without issue, but the stairs leading to the Archives were directly blocked by a giant. As the stairs were narrow, this one was fortunately only the size of a Berenike Knight. Siegmeyer and Logan stopped to consider their options, but Lex kept walking toward it.

"Relax," he said. "It's just an illu-"

The prophet walked straight into the tower shield.

"What? But it's not-!"

The cleric was promptly shield-bashed back toward his companions. The guard took a threatening step forward.

"By Gwyn's beard! Logan, how do illusions work? This is nonsense! That guard's not real!"

"Illusions? This is hardly sleight-of-hand. Truly magical illusions are the stuff of myth. While I don't doubt such things are possible-"

"Okay, sorcery can only shoot beams, I get it. Assuming I'm not just seeing a future where everyone is dead, that guard does not exist. Can you shoot a beam that disrupts the pattern of souls there?"

Logan grumbled under his hat, but the cleric had his number. A master sorcerer couldn't simply retreat after his command of souls was questioned. He said something indecipherable, then raised his old, gnarled stave. There was a dull pulse, and the guard exploded into souls.

"Well, well," Logan said. "So it was true. Could this be the art of the Grandfather of Sorcery?"

"Splendid work, Lexion!" Siegmeyer said, patting him on the back. "I was worried that the gods had turned from us. I see now that it was another trial for their prophet."

"Don't get too excited. If the guards are illusions, and my eye is still working right, that means that the scary thing I see everywhere is also real. We're going to need to hurry and seek audience with the Duke."

"With Seath the Scaleless?" Logan said, taken aback. "He has been mad for years! For centuries! I merely seek to learn from his research, but you-? A cleric would seek to pull the Grandfather of Sorcery from his insanity? Perhaps I have misjudged you. You are an ally to learning, in your own, vulgar, dependent way."

"Well, it's not like learning got anyone killed or anything," Lex said, shrugging.

They continued on their way. The stairs led part of the way up, but the path was continued on the mountainside itself. Peculiarly, the Archives were high above even the palace of the Lord of Sunlight, on the uppermost edge of the basin. They soon came upon a tunnel which would have led them the rest of the way; only, it was blocked.

Ahead lay a fog wall. It shone with a terrible umber power, like the setting sun reflecting off the clouds again and again in a feedback loop until it became an eye-ruining radiance. Lex closed his normal eye and stared at it with both his vision and simply the extra durability of a demon's eyeball. Yet even then, it remained there. He could not see past it.

"Well, Logan, will you do the honors?" he said, trying to pass the buck.

"Don't be ridiculous. This is clearly the work of Gwyn. Even I must admit that. Therefore, the cleric among us is most suited for dispersing this particular soul fog."

Lex grumbled and wondered if he could pawn it off on Siegmeyer. After a moment, he approached the golden fog. He touched it cautiously with the back of his hand. He could feel his knuckles warm from the touch, and the hair down his arm stood up. It didn't hurt him, but he couldn't pass either. He turned his hand around and tried pressing, but he merely pushed himself away from the fog. He hummed a little and wondered how much he wanted to reveal.

"I am Lexion of Carim, Prophet of Her Highness, the Dowager Queen Beryf! In the name of the Great Lord Gwyn's wife, allow me passage!"

Siegmeyer gasped at the revelation, but nothing happened. Lex growled at having given away Caitha's identity for nothing. It was a bad trade and a mistake on his part. Still, revealing a powerful patron normally opened doors, so to speak. He wasn't wrong in hoping that it would literally open this door. Maybe there was another option.

"Duke Seath! I met one of your channelers in my Lady's Parish! He said my eyes were open! What is it that my Lady doesn't want you to tell me?"

Still nothing happened. Logan seemed to have begun taking notes in a small journal of expensive parchment, though the topic couldn't be seen from where Lex was standing. Siegmeyer shook his head.

"Do not worry!" the knight said. "Surely, we will find a key of some sort in Anor Londo below. Oh my! I never thought I would have the opportunity to say something like that! Heaven below."

Siegmeyer chuckled, but even he was a little disappointed. Together, they started walking back down the hill, Logan lagging behind a little as he wrote. Suddenly, Lex looked up.

"What's that?"

There was nothing.

"Why, I don't see anything," Siegmeyer said.

"I don't either," Lex replied. "I hear it, which is weird. It's a woman singing."

"What is that infernal racket?" Logan said, looking up at last. "Something high-pitched and moaining."

"Oh, there it is," said Siegmeyer at last, echoing in his sturdy helmet.

The three looked around until at last Lex saw them in the distance. Like shadows cast by the fading sunlight, they gently descended from the height of the Archives. Three tremendous nocturnal butterflies whose wings glimmered with starlight. Their antennae were a twisted pair of thorned vines, and a silver halo of thorns spun behind each insect's back. Each had a tail which blew behind them like silvery hair.

As they drew closer, the haunting aria grew louder. It was the creatures' call, somehow. At last, they approached, ever so gently. Each took one of the humans for itself and returned to flight. This time, the men didn't resist. If the terrifying red-handed creatures were fine, why not these gorgeous creatures? And so, they took off into the darkening evening sky.


	30. Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter

The butterflies set the men down in a courtyard within the Archive's walls. The mystical insects continued onward without pause, diving into a cave of glimmering blue crystals. Logan stammered to look at them, and Lex could see why – his left eye saw them thrumming with an ancient sorcerous power. Yet the crystals seemed to spread as a blight from the cave, petrifying nearby trees and seemingly poisoning others throughout the small garden.

"Sorcery overriding life!" Logan gasped. "This is a triumph of pure soul manipulation over the imprecise biological triggers of pyromancy! By the North Star, what a revolution!"

"But does it have a point? Pyromancy's not exactly medical science. I could probably learn the basics in a weekend. I feel like it would be easier just to combine the two. Didn't the Witch of Izalith use flame sorcery before her fall?"

"Even a cleric should know that pyromancy is a deranged and unpredictable… I hate to call it a science. Tracing its lineage back to something more reasonable would no doubt take just as long as developing such techiques as you see here. However, by using pure sorcery instead of a hodgepodge of impatible magics, one _learns_ more. By understanding the complexities of an organic system, there is little one could not manipulate with sorcery, I suspect. Even such illusions as those guards could be replicated trivially in comparison."

Lex grossed his arms and grunted deep in his throat.

"Okay, fair," he sighed. "Do you think Duke Seath was behind those illusions, then?"

"Little chance. Spectacle is not the essence of sorcery. The illusion of a missing path would be less wasteful and more foolproof. An overconfident warrior might still have challenged those sentinels and disrupted their composition. What madman would walk over thin air in the belief that the path was invisible?"

"So are you saying it wasn't a sorcerer who made those guards?"

"Not quite. Do mistake it; those illusions were sorcerous. The structure of the illusion felt quite sturdy, moreso than I expected. Sorceries are designed logically and efficiently. They tend to have a – ahem – crystalline structure.

This felt overzealously ornate and reinforced. My counter-beams struck at angles across its surface. The structure felt more like a miracle, a tower of concentric rings."

Lex clapped.

"You said it. You said it."

"I said what?"

"Beams. Even when it's used for other things, sorcery is just beams."

The old sorcerer fumed and shook under his hat like a wobbling mushroom.

"You! Unserious students like you are yet another reason for the failure of the Dragon School's academic tradition!"

Lex rolled his eyes and looked around. They were in a walled garden, though it clearly had not been tended since the Duke fell to madness. Vaguely humanoid golems made of the same blue crystals as the cave stood idle around the perimeter. There was no obvious way to go, and the Duke didn't seem to have sent anyone to fetch his guests.

Fortunately, Lex had gained experience from scanning the Fortress, and he'd reinforced his mind with souls at the bonfire. His left eye stretched into the past. A knight in a goldenrod-colored surcoat ran from the cave below as fast as his legs could take him. The coat was covered in elaborate swirling patterns, and golden spiral medallions held a bright red mantle in place. His face was hidden by a brass mask with intricate carvings. The knight was armed with a short greatsword and a large kite shield.

Without telling Logan or Siegmeyer, Lex chased the phantom through the trees of the garden. Fortunately, the knight slowed as he ran. Crystals were beginning to sprout haphazardly from his equipment, weighing him down. The knight's movements slowly became unnaturally stiff, and at last, he collapsed, frozen in a running position.

"Pr…i…n…ce…ss… Du…s…k…"

"Huh."

Siegmeyer caught up shortly, a little heavy of breath. Fortunately, the trees were still wide enough apart that they couldn't really get lost.

"Goodness, Lexion, you must not keep running off like this. Even if we are in the Duke's domain, it could still be dangerous."

"Alright, I'll at least shout something next time. Say, have you heard of a princess or a queen named Dusk?"

"Mm. No, I don't believe I have. Did you have a vision of her?"

"No, but it looks like one of her knights was here," Lex said, pointing at the body a few paces ahead. "If Lord Gwyn sealed the Archives himself, then how did someone get here before us? This guy wasn't part of Tarkus' group. Why would the Duke let him in and then just kill him? Or did he sneak in?"

"Oho. Quite the puzzle."

"Can you help me look for clues on his remains? I don't really know my way around armor."

"As much as I would hate to disrespect the dead by rummaging through their belongings, it is certainly better than leaving him like that. Will you give him his final rites?"

Lex shook his head.

"No good. He's already long dead. That torn, brownish mantle he's wearing used to be blood red. His spirit went to its final rest before either of us were even born."

"I see. There is no helping it, then."

"Keep an eye out while moving him. His body's been petrified, and I'm not sure how sturdy his joints are right now."

Siegmeyer knelt and gently rolled the petrified knight onto his back. The Catarinan was careful to tug the limbs free so that they wouldn't break. In addition to freezing the body in mid-run, the petrification had also spread to the armor, making it hard but brittle. Chainmail and leather resisted bending like plate made from poor metal. A few crystals had grown off the sides of the armor like mushrooms.

Looking it over, there was quite a lot to see. That a knight would be given such an elaborately-detailed coat for active duty spoke of the splendor of the not-so-distant past.

It was difficult to say what the black spirals and jagged crescents were meant to represent. More puzzling were the medallions shaped like spiral shells, as Lordran kept its focus inland and rarely thought of the sea. There were spiked crosses on the boots, which also appeared as patterns on the coat. The mask was an elaborate combination of simple patterns which reminded Lex of the "primitive" designs of Izalith.

Yet there was one symbol among the collection which he did recognize: the green flower. He had seen it before, in old texts. No one seemed to know what it meant. It wasn't like the icons of the God of War, which had been repressed and so could be discovered by following the source of repression. The green flower had simply been forgotten.

The cleric turned up his left hand and looked at the matching ring on his finger. The Chloranthy Ring, his Lady had said. She'd not told him anything but the name. His vision had taken him further, revealed to him the secret of the Ringed City. The green flower had some association with that lost place, so it is not surprising that the meaning of the symbol was too lost. Only, what did the symbol have to do with the city?

Chloranthy was not an exact term – it could mean that the petals of the flower had simply turned green, virescence, or that the petals had defectively grown as leaves, phyllody, a condition which made the plant sterile. Lex was no botanist, but a certain level of familiarity with plants was required for the clergy. After all, plants received the light of the sun most directly. Knowledge of plants was holy, and it allowed clerics to aid both farmers and pharmacists.

Unfortunately, Lex's "good enough" knowledge was no help to him in identifying anything else about the green blossom of the Chloranthy Ring. He looked back to the armor. There were pennants hanging from a belt, perhaps to decorate the knight for service. The man's head was completely covered in the same formerly-red cloth as the mantle. Even the eyes were covered and could not be seen through the mask's eyeholes.

Lex was still drawing a blank on the other symbols, so he looked at the sword and shield. The sword was somewhat unusual, thick as a greatsword but only as long as an ordinary broadsword. It had floral patterns, and the long hilt looked like a column. The guard was an oversized piece of artistry, an open circle in the middle of its leaves showing the tang of the blade as it fed into the hilt.

The designs of the shield could barely be seen under the extreme crystallization it had suffered. If Lex hazarded a guess, the poor knight had tried to _block_ whatever had caused this. Looking carefully, though, he could barely make out a few petals of the green flower. It was top and center of the shield, the most prominent element.

So then the green blossom represented the knight's order or whatnot. The rest of it was just styling. Well, maybe the shells were a clue to its location. The cleric sighed.

"Well, I'm at a loss. Siegmeyer, do you notice anything?"

"Mm. Mmmm. I'm afraid not. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least. The color yellow, or _or_ , represents the sun and faith. No doubt this fellow was a holy warrior of great honor. The red, _gules_ , of his mantle usually means war but might mean other blood – like a noble sacrifice. The whirling patterns in black, _sable_ , make my head spin in more than one way. I do not recognize the patterns or why _sable_ was used. It could mean many things – the ancient dragons, deadly nightshade, diamond…"

"Black diamond," Lex murmured. "It couldn't be."

While they were talking, Logan had finally caught up. The sorcerer didn't look pleased to be sticking with the other two, but he hadn't wandered off alone either.

"Oh, Sage Logan," Siegmeyer said. "Do any of these symbols look familiar to you?"

The older sorcerer crouched near the petrified body to get a closer look.

"A cleric, perhaps one more senior than Lexion here, would have a better grasp of archaic symbology. If there were runes, I could be of more assistance. All I can say is that spirals often represent longevity or eternity. However, in Vinheim, a coil represents the _slumbering_ dragon – signifying silence or dream – rather than the _lingering_ dragon of longevity."

Siegmeyer nodded.

"Oho! I had similar thoughts! I can imagine the more hook-shaped parts to be shrimp – which also mean longevity as the 'old men of the sea'. There seems to be a nautical theme."

Suddenly, the knight gasped and pointed.

"Oh! Do you see the pommel? The hand-catch at the bottom of the sword's handle? That is a scallop, a _coquille_! If this is a holy knight, you know what a scallop means, Lexion!"

"The pilgrimage of Archbishop Iago to world's-end," Lex said thoughtfully. "The shell represents sunset and is worn by pilgrims so they are not accosted in their journey. Pilgrims must travel to the westernmost coast, where sunlit land gives way to the lightless depths of an endless sea. It is said there is a monument there which forgives sins."

That was it. This knight shared the same origin as the Chloranthy Ring and the shield Oscar had given him. A veil drew back from his mind. The Dark Soul would not be kept in sunlit land. The Abyss was wet and cold. Across the sea, then. Beyond world's-end, where the sun fell and the moon rose.

Sight focused, Lex touched the fallen knight's mask. He saw them, the red cliffs of world's-end, bathed in sunset. A handful of knights rose from the depths of the sea, from the secret ways to the Ringed City. They were holy, their Dark not only sealed by the Great Lord's power but banished from their own minds. They were Men of valor, who did not need to rely upon their monstrous origins. Yet they were among the last.

Already there were too few of them remaining to check the abuses of the Pygmy Lords, and yet they had set out for distant Oolacile. Princess Dusk had gone missing. They would find her, alive or dead, no matter the cost. This was their faith.

From world's-end, they traveled to Astora and requisitioned a ship to Carim. From Carim, they passed to the distant north of Lordran. Their spy in Oolacile had witnessed the truth. The Dark was seeping out. Duke Seath had dispatched his golems and falseborn creatures to suppress the outbreak before it became an Abyss. In doing so, he had taken the princess into custody and confiscated her belongings.

The matters of Oolacile did indeed fall to the Duke, yet the princess did not. The knights would proceed to the Regal Archives and take her into custody. She would be returned to the Ringed City at last. Or so they had thought.

Lex's vision slowly wound back to the present.

"It was a power struggle," he said, "between the Duke and… a defunct order. There was an… incident. This order legally should have had rights over the instigators, but Duke Seath wanted to investigate the causes. When the knights tried to press the issue, well… there's not much you can do against an ancient dragon."

"What else did you see?" Logan asked curiously, pulling out his journal. "If you do truly possess this ability of psychometry, what did you see about the White Dragon?"

"Sage Logan?" Siegmeyer said, offended. "Do you have no heart? A knight was slain unjustly, and Lexion must be mentally exhausted!"

"It's fine, Siegmeyer," Lex said. "I've gotten stronger as I've used my sight. And it's important to know what we're going to face in here."

He paused and licked his lips.

"As they cut the Duke, his wounds closed behind the blades. When they tried striking him, the crushed flesh sprung back immediately. Fire is one thing, but there's no way to block dragon breath if it's pure soul energy. Worse, everything he or his breath touches begins to grow crystals and petrify. The White Dragon's flaw of mortality seems to have been cured, and his destructive power is what you'd expect of an archdragon. If he's not feeling talkative, we'll need to run."

"Mm. He is a dragon. There's no helping it. Still, it's shameful that a duke of Anor Londo should behave like that. We're fortunate that he seems to respect the dowager queen's authority."

Logan shook his head.

"That or he saw easy victims. It is more likely that he responded to Lexion's claim of having been invited. However, you bring up a good point. Lexion, do you truly speak with the authority of Gwyn's wife?"

The prophet sighed.

"In some respects. I am the prophet of Beryf, called Berenike among Men. As Siegmeyer has realized, Mother Caitha is her modern identity. Mercy is needed more now than Dominion, so she wiped away her old self like dried tears. That said, I don't exactly have any instructions or authority. She wants her children to be independent, like any good mother."

"Does this independence come with a map?" Logan said. "I should hate to be captured again so close to my destination."

"Sort of. I can follow the actions of past pilgrims, like this knight." He paused, watching a gray phantom for a moment before continuing, "That way. There's a wooden platform with a ladder leading out from the main building. It looks like the Archives weren't finished before Lord Gwyn sealed the Duke."

Lex led the other two through the forest, slowly this time. While the wood wasn't exactly thick, it was still quite wide, and the shadows grew long as they crossed directly through the center. They stopped suddenly, each of them seeing the obstacle at the same time. It was one of the hulking, barely-humanoid crystal golems – only this one was a shimmering gold in color rather than the blue-white of soul energy.

Lex whispered something about avoiding it and started walking a wide circle around it, followed by Logan. Siegmeyer had stopped completely. He stooped forward and stared.

"That is a knight of Catarina!" Siegmeyer hissed.

There was a single large crystal growing out of the golem's back that was far larger than any of its limbs or even its torso. Sure enough, if one squinted to see, there was an onion-armored knight trapped within the crystal like a fly in amber.

"It was not enough that the Duke would slay his rivals," the knight continued, voice rising. "He would imprison a Knight of Catarina on pilgrimage! To attack a pilgrim!"

"Siegmeyer, don't-" Lex started.

"Release that knight, foul creature!" Siegmeyer bellowed, raising his sword in challenge.

The faceless golem turned and began lumbering toward the knight while Siegmeyer charged in turn. As they neared, the golem awkwardly slowed and began to wind up as Siegmeyer swung his horse-killing blade with all his might. Golden crystal flakes sprayed beneath the trees' shadow, glimmering in eight colors as they passed in and out of the light.

The golem swung its arm around with inhuman strength, denting the side of Siegmeyer's armor. The knight staggered back, but before he could be overwhelmed, a surging javelin of souls tore through the golem. Logan stood with his gnarled staff raised, but even his mighty Soul Spear – the greatest power modern sorcery could bring to bear – had little effect on a creation of the Grandfather of Sorcery.

Still, it gave Siegmeyer the time to hammer a blow upward, trying to topple the golem under the weight of its trapped knight. The living crystal stumbled backward. Lex knelt as he finished reciting a miracle, and a violet shockwave knocked its legs out from under it. It nearly fell on top of him, but luckily, it toppled on one foot and fell to the side.

Siegmeyer followed up, taking advantage of its helplessness for a heavy overhead swing. The protruding part of the golem's upper torso, which might be considered a head, cracked. He struck again, and the crystal shattered. The loss of the golem's core unbalanced the weight and soul energy distribution thoughout, and cracks began to spread across the whole structure. Logan took notes as the entire golem fractured, then collapsed into a pile of glimmering dust.

The trapped knight of Catarina had been held upright in the golem. Since it had been knocked over, she was now lying in a heap of its remains. Some of it had poured into her visor, and she quickly bolted upright in a fit of coughing. After a moment to catch her breath, she removed her helmet to pour out the last of the dust.

She was pale and dark-eyed from exhaustion but would have otherwise been quite hearty. Her dirty blond hair was tied in a utilitarian bun, and her eyes were an unremarkable brown. She had a beauty mark on her left cheek, but it was too far back and was almost unnoticable.

It was a little funny, Lex thought – this was the first _normal_ woman he had seen since he'd died. Normal in more than one sense of the word. This knightess was exhausted. Undead didn't fatigue. She was _alive_. She had fought her way to Lordran and survived.

"Lin?" Siegmeyer said. "Sieglinde, is that you?"

"Father?"

Before the knightess could do anything, Siegmeyer had scooped her out of the shimmering dust and into a crushing hug. They twirled around, the elder knight lifting his daughter into the air as if she wasn't wearing heavy armor.

"Oh, I don't know if I should scold you or praise you!" Siegmeyer said, letting her down at last. "What are you doing here in Lordran?"

"Father, I…"

Sieglinde glanced at the other two men from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath.

"It can wait, Father, at least for a little while. You are on the adventure you always wanted. Why don't you tell me the tales of what you've seen first?"


	31. Children of the Night

In spite of the possible dangers of taking a break in the middle of the mad Duke's garden, they did exactly that. In fact, Lex suspected that if they were in the Parish, Siegmeyer would have raided the mess hall for food and drink. Still, listening to the old knight's embellished tales of the path from the Undead Asylum to Sen's Fortress gave him some time to get his bearings.

Since they were in the domain of sorcery's very creator, Logan was going to be basically useless. At best, the old man might be able to develop countermeasures to sorcerous attacks. Siegmeyer was of course still tremendously strong. The question would be whether he would have enough mobility.

The younger knightess was almost identically-equipped but had a smaller greatsword. Of course, it was still the sort of thing that was usually only used one-handed by heroes. Exhausted or not, she could probably break him in half.

Lex blinked and immediately swore to the Goddess of Love that he wouldn't flirt with an onion knight.

Still, Sieglinde seemed… normal. Since arriving in Lordran, Lex could only remember meeting lunatics. It started with a cowardly warrior and went all the way to Chaos demons. After having been apart from the relatively-ordinary Oscar for so long, the cleric was stunned to meet someone who wasn't a living legend or mad cultist.

Sure, she was definitely hiding something, but appropriately ashamed of it. She cackling maniacally while rubbing her hands together. She didn't have any extra teeth or magical eyes. So when it came time for her to explain exactly how she'd gotten to Lordran without becoming undead, he listened intently.

As the case was, she was just cautious. In spite of her great strength, she had never taken excessive risk. Her armor was certainly sturdy, but there was a limit to how much she could repair it on her journey. Learning how to avoid fights was the secret to her success – and really, quite impressive considering the size and weight of her armor.

She'd laid traps, lured hollows away from groups one at a time, and took the long way around encounters she wasn't sure she could win. In other words, she used actual intelligence instead of whatever magical nonsense sorcerers claimed to be the source of their power. This was it, Lex realized at last. This was what the Goddess wanted him to develop. It was less a matter of mastering both sorceries and miracles and more a matter of mastering himself and his interactions with the world.

"Though I hate to say it," Sieglinde said, "many of the tools which helped me get this far only exist because of the Curse."

She reached into a belt pouch and removed a shrunken skull. It had become nearly transparent through infusion with souls and gave off a wild aura.

"It can be difficult to distract hollows compared to animals. They don't have a sense of fear or wariness. Just throwing a rock usually doesn't work since they don't listen for predators or prey. They're attracted to souls, so you have to use something like this. I dread to learn how they're made, though."

Quietly, Lex wondered if his own soul-sight would be fooled by such a trick. Now that he thought on it, he was becoming more and more reliant on the Goddess' power. Sure, scouting an area before marching into the open was wise, but he wasn't developing any such skills for searching or mapping or whatnot. He was merely learning how to control a gifted power. It was good to trust in the gods, but what if his Lady took her power back as a test? He would definitely die.

"Sieglinde," he said, careful to buzz the 'S' like the Catarinans did, "you seem to be quite the experienced adventurer. If you don't mind, would you be willing to teach me a few tricks before we go our separate ways? I have nothing to give but the blessings of Caitha, but-"

The knightess took a tired breath and forced a smile.

"Think nothing of it. It is the least I could do for a servant of Mother Mercy. We must be swift about it, though. I cannot remain in Lordran for much longer."

"Hm?"

"Oh?" Siegmeyer echoed. Then he crossed his arms and nodded before continuing, "I suppose you must have duties as the new family head."

"No, it is not that, Father. I would never-"

"It's the souls," Logan interrupted. "We undead have broken our limits as humans. Things which would kill mortal Men do nothing to us. Even water is a poison to the body in vast amounts. So too, an overabundance of souls is quickly toxic. If a common human were brought this close to Anor Londo, their own fledgling unique souls would rupture from the pressure difference.

Look closely. Her skin is not merely paled from exertion. It is nearly bleached and transparent. Her eyes are not dark from loss of sleep; observe the veins rising to the surface and how they are tinged with soul poisoning. Consider this old sorcerer impressed. Such buildup has killed more apprentices than I can count."

Sieglinde looked at the ground.

"It is not so bad."

"Lin!" Siegmeyer shouted, grabbing her arms. "You must leave at once! I would not have you risking your life merely to see me!"

"There is good reason for my presence here, Father. Only, it can wait a while longer. I would not abandon a servant of Goddess Caitha. Not when I owe her so much."

She tugged free of her father and held up her hand to show Lex her own red tearstone ring.

"You needed to reach the mad Duke, correct? I am also curious as to his excuse for capturing me."

Lex nodded solemnly.

"You have my thanks. How did you get inside that crystal, anyway?"

"I am not sure. I was exploring the forest beneath the Undead Parish – 'Darkroot Garden,' I think the blacksmith called it. I descended to the basin below and found many of the Duke's crystal golems. As I planned my descent, I caught sight of a sorcerer in a strange mask. He vanished, and I suddenly became terribly tired. I became aware that I was trapped much later but could nothing. It was like sleep paralysis. When I fully awoke, I was here."

"A channeler," Lex said. "A mask with six eyes and a trident, right?"

"That's right! You've seen one?"

"I've spoken with one and watched another be brutally killed. The first one invited me here. He said I'd need to make a choice of some kind once the Duke revealed some secret."

"I hope the choice will involve bringing the Duke to justice," Siegmeyer harrumphed.

Logan rolled his eyes.

"I do wonder why the channelers revealed themselves to a cleric instead of a sorcerer who understand their purpose."

Lex chose not to comment on the jealousy.

"They didn't exactly reveal themselves. If they were hiding when you first arrived in Lordran, it looks like they aren't anymore."

"Of course! According to legend, the White Dragon was sentenced to house arrest here in the Regal Archives for fear of his so-called madness. What sort of house arrest would it be if his servants were free to pursue his errands?"

Lex nodded.

"Fair enough. Let's get going, then. Just keep an eye out for channelers. In addition to their normal sorceries, they can also strengthen hollows with some sort of war dance and vanish to avoid attacks. I was invited here, but they never said I would be safe. Let's be careful. There's a chance everything in here is hostile."

"Let me remind you," Logan added, "not to damage any of the works here. They are all likely irreplacable treasures worth more than any of our own lives."

The others gave a sort of begrudging agreement, and they rose to enter the Archives. The way through the forest was clear enough, and they'd soon reached the unfinished platform Lex had forseen. Siegmeyer checked the old wooden ladder, and after confirming it could bear his weight, climbed up first. The rickety wooden platform at the top creaked and sagged under the onion knight's weight, but it held in spite of its age.

Lex went up next, then Logan, then Sieglinde followed last in case they were attacked from behind once they were inside. For now, they'd gathered on the platform which stood alongside one wall, leading to an open arch that led inside. The walls of the Archives were once shining white stone, but their surface had long since worn down and now molded, giving them a sickly green tint. Still, the structure was far grander and more intact than any of the human ruins below. While not quite so beautiful as the great capital of Anor Londo, it was truly a work of the gods.

Just inside the archway, however, it looked quite human. The wooden floor was covered in mold and old bird feces from the open passage. A vast number of mechanical parts were strewn throughout the room, rusted red and immobile from centuries of exposure. Half-rotten books lay amongst the parts and in the low rafters on the left and right sides. On the right was a raised platform where it had seemed the mechanical parts had been left in the midst of assembly.

The center of the room was peculiarly barren, though there was a hollow that turned toward the group as they looked in. Its skin was a pearlescent blue, and crystals jutted out from it everywhere. Its head listed to one side under the weight of a crystal growing from its eye while the other glowed red with Dark. Its hands were fused to solid crystal around its equipment. In one hand was a slab of crystal that was roughly shaped like a straightsword.

In the other was a kite shield which had somehow corroded _blue_. The shield was well-worn, and some coat of arms had been crudely painted on its surface with paint that was only slightly less blue. Strangely, Lex couldn't look away.

… _and the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten._

That was no coat of arms. That was a seal, a rune. Lex could't look away. Truly, he couldn't.

Though the shield was upside-down at rest, his eye had righted the crude image in his mind. He saw through the silhouette, through the shadows, to the shape the rune represented.

There was a vast, dark chasm and a great light – the Light – the First Flame. Three stars were taken from the Flame, three tiny jewels of incomparable value. Beneath the Flame crept a tiny creature whose shadow wore long. A pair of fearsome serpents arose before the figure and behind. They whispered to the Man, but Lex couldn't hear them.

He did hear something else.

" _Ah, you blind idiot Man_ ," a whisper hissed at the base of his skull.

It was disgusting, like pillow talk from a snake.

" _Finally taken notice, have you?_ "

The others had certainly taken notice of Lex having frozen.

"Prophet, is it a vision?" Siegmeyer said with bated breath.

" _Say nothing of my voice. They hear me already but are too ignorant to listen._ "

"Um. Sort of," Lex said, half looking at Siegmeyer and half at the ceiling.

" _My souls have infused this place and all places that my crystals touch. No matter where you go, my voice will follow. I_ _ **am**_ _the Archives. You are within my corpus. I see all that you do, Man of Carim. Proceed up and to the southern great hall. There, you will find a bonfire for your wretched kind._ "

"Up?"

Lex looked to the ceiling and the others followed him. There was a peculiar stretch down the center of the room. It was a line of boards separate from the others, forming a flat row. After thinking it over for a moment, Lex realized.

"That's a staircase. We just need to pull it down. There must have been a cord that's rotted away."

Siegmeyer nodded and entered the room first, casually smashing the hollow into the floor.

"Mm. It is safe. There is no ambush here," the knight said.

Lex let him have that satisfaction of that. No need to point out that a magic eye was much better at finding ambushes. Still, the grandfather of sorcery might have been able to conceal-

" _While I can appreciate traps, there are none here. They would distract from my work._ "

Lex choked. Was his privacy completely-

" _The Dark can hide nothing here, Man._ "

"This isn't Dark! This is literally just thinking!"

The others turned at the sudden outburst.

"I'm… uh… having a divine revelation. Logan, don't you give me that look!"

The old sorcerer grinned, terribly bemused, but said nothing. Lex looked to the onion knights, but their eyes could only be seen through the slit in their helms at certain angles.

"Right, so, there should be no traps. This is the living and work space for the Duke's people. It's not like Anor Londo doesn't have its own defenses. Anyone here in the Regal Archives is meant to be here."

Sieglinde put her fist to her helm thoughtfully.

"What about this hollow? The poor soul was dressed only in rags."

" _A slave. The only fitting duty for the vermin that are Men._ "

"I don't think the Duke cares too much for his servants. I wonder about the channelers."

"I imagine the White Dragon appreciates how much they have advanced the field of sorcery," Logan said authoritatively.

" _They have abandoned their humanity to become my children. Remove their armor, and you will find serpent flesh. Their bodies contort to mimic my divine form. Just as yours is further debased in_ _ **her**_ _image. Hurry to me, Abbot of Misrule, if you wish to be saved._ "

Lex choked again at the title. Setting aside the insult to his Lady, he hadn't had _that_ duty in several years. Usually, the junior deacons drew lots to determine who had the misfortune to preside over the peasants' Gwynmas revels. The Abbot of Misrule had to ensure that no one got terribly sick, injured, or killed over the three-day period. Worse, the Abbot couldn't participate.

For once, the prophet was at a loss. He couldn't tell if the White Dragon was deeply reading his memories or if he simply knew about Carimin Gwynmas traditions. Was any thought of his safe? What about his naughty thoughts? They idea of the venerable and holy dragon seeing those images was- He suddenly realized he had thought of them while the Duke was already reading his surface thoughts.

" _My interest in mammalian reproduction lies in its practical use as a means of mobile incubation. Your fictions about the Chaos Witch's over-long tongue are of no import._ "

Suddenly, the stairs thudded to the ground in front of Lex. Logan had directed Siegmeyer to pry them down using some sort of rusted mechanism as a hook. Lex yelped at the dragon's voyeurism just as the stairs struck, camoflaging his panic.

"Oh!" Siegmeyer said. "I'm sorry to have scared you, Lexion. I meant to lower it gently, but I seem to have pulled a little too hard."

"No, it's… alright. I'm just not used to surprises anymore, what with the foresight."

"You must be careful," Sieglinde warned. "That is precisely the sort of bad habit which can get you killed."

Lex nodded soberly. He certainly would need to be more cautious in using his power. It was like stopping to examine a map while passing through bandit territory. Once the onion knights left him, he would need to be sure the surrounding areas were safe before using his foresight.

" _All power comes at a cost. Your body is being warped by unholy forces. Hurry to the inner library. I will grant you relief… and the insight of a true prophet. Two eyes are not enough. I will grant you more, as I have done for my channelers._ "

Siegmeyer climbed the stairs first, and the others fell into line. They rose into a vast room, devoid of decoration. There was a second level which looked down on them from a great distance, upheld by arches of marble lined with gold. So great was the wealth of Anor Londo that they could decorate even a storeroom, for indeed, the humans had entered into the Archives' storeroom.

Bookcases taller and wider than a peasant's hovel were strewn through the room haphazardly, the shelves all so full that still more books were piled across the floor. Atop the bookshelves were still more bookshelves. They were stacked three high on the first storey, and three, four, five on the second. The walls gave way to the sloped ceiling but still the bookcases stacked. The sturdy wood of the shelves creaked and listed ever closer to falling on the humans far below.

Aside from towers of unshelved books strewn across the floor, there were countless other technical accoutrements in the storeroom. From astrolabes worth a king's ransom to portraits of legendary figures who shouldn't have actually existed, countless treasures were casually left to mildew and rot in the slightly-damp chamber. Logan almost screamed and turned from one book to another before choosing one.

"Principles of soular motion! This is handwritten copy of Eusha of the Delta's notes! We have only fragments of these manuscripts! Flawed copies full of transcription errors dating after the Third Thorolund Written-God-Tongue Reforms!

Eusha was the first sorcerer to do many things, but we owe him most of all for the principles of autonomous soul masses! I could not have invented the modern soul mass without his work… at least not without another decade to reinvent it. Do you know what the Dragon School would do for something like this?

This entire room… I recognize so many of them from the mere scraps we have in the world below. If there were a heaven of eternal reward, it would surely resemble this! All the lost knowledge of the world…"

"Uh, Logan," Lex said, "this is pretty clearly just a storeroom."

"If these are but the White Dragon's cast-offs, then I am not worthy to enter the main library!"

"Okay, but we're going there anyway. I need to speak with the Duke, remember?"

"No," Logan said, a strange tone to his voice. "I will remain here. If the Grandfather of Sorcery truly exists, I will not come before him with such incomplete knowledge!"

Lex "heard" a strange rumble. He could _feel_ the Duke smiling a hungry viper's smile.

" _Do you see, Man? This is proper behavior. Your kind are so often like locusts. You gorge yourselves on your wants until they prove your undoing. Alone of that wretched school which claims my blessing, I will make this_ ' _Sage Logan_ ' _one of my kin. Proceed without him. He will come to no harm._ "

"Certainly, there must be something else of interest further on," Siegmeyer said. "Perhaps these are the books the Duke has cast away. They may be full of errors."

"Many of these are the foundational works of sorcery, Knight Siegmeyer. If they contain mistakes, then I have already learned those errors. Worry not, I shall treat them purely as historical works. I will not attempt any sorcery which I plainly know to be unsafe."

Siegmeyer seemed at a loss for words, and Sieglinde stood in polite silence since she knew Logan for a few minutes at most. Lex shook his head.

"It's fine, Siegmeyer. Everyone comes to Lordran for different reasons. Maybe leaving the great Sage here to research will do more to help the world than having him fight with us."

Siegmeyer nodded slowly.

"When you put it that way, it does make sense. Truly, a prophet can see the future even without miracles. It reminds me of the time I served with the Imperial Strategist. I never won a game of chess against him, either!"

The knight laughed and relaxed a little.

"It is a shame, but I wish your research well, Sage Logan. I will certainly stop to visit with you again before I leave the Archives."

The sorcerer was hardly paying attention, nose already buried in a book and his hat completely covering his face at that angle.

"Mm. Yes. Safe travels. Do not disturb the White Dragon's work. Anything such a brilliant creature is developing is no doubt worth more than human life."

"Oh," Siegmeyer said, slightly surprised at the coldness.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Sage Logan," Sieglinde said dutifully.

Lex grunted affirmatively and nodded but didn't have anything to say. He turned and started toward down the long path out of the storeroom. Though there were several places where the bookcases parted to reveal other passages filled with still more bookcases, it was simple to follow the ivory columns down the length of the enormous room. Between the silence of the library and the height of the room, even the cleric's light footsteps echoed like thunder.

Siegmeyer finally found his resolve and hurried after Lex, taking the lead once more. Sieglinde fell in line guarding the rear, still not quite talkative.

"So," Lex said stiffly, "what's the worship of Caitha like in Catarina? It's not exactly popular in Carim, and that's considering she was originally our national deity. I'm surprised the Empire is so tolerant of the Black Rites."

"Mmmm," Siegmeyer hummed, "well, it is not quite 'tolerant.' Knights such as myself rarely suffer for it as long as we are quietly pious." His voice dipped a little before finishing, "And as long as we do not hesitate to enforce restrictions upon others."

At last, Sieglinde found her voice.

"It is a sad thing. Mother Caitha weeps for her children who cannot even call out to her. I have spoken about much to my peers. We have sworn an oath that we will do all we can to ensure our people can pray to all the gods. My older brother… Father, Harald is… more warlike than I know you would have wanted. But he is true to the gods, not to the politics of Thorolund. Our people are free now."

Siegmeyer's breath echoed in his helmet.

"That sounds just like him. I'm glad he is not burdened by his duties."

There was both sadness and pride in the old knight's voice. When he fell silent, an awkward pressure descended on the group, and they spoke no more. As they neared the open archway which led out of the storeroom, Lex heard the now-familiar hissing.

" _Halt. If you hold faith in the gods, you will not come before me in the colors and raiment of the enemy. There, the chest before that shelf full of astronomical observations. Garb yourself as one of mine._ "

"Wait a moment," Lex said, "I'm having a vision."

The knights stopped and turned toward him as he looked around for the books mentioned. Sure enough, there was a wooden chest lying neatly in front of the shelf. Lex opened it to reveal a full set of channeler's attire.

"Oho? It would seem the Duke's snatchers are men after all."

"A disguise!" Sieglinde immediately said in an excited hush. "You can pretend we are prisoners, Prophet Lexion."


	32. Stay with Me

If Lex had felt uncomfortable in the leather tights he'd been wearing since the Undead Burg, at least he wasn't exhausted by the weight of his clothes. The silver-gleaming silk of those butterflies or moths which had carried the group into the Archives was miraculously light. However, the robes were so elaborate between innumerable folds, tightly-woven silk belts, and various brass ornaments that the entire set weighed quite a bit more than full-body chainmail.

Given the cloistered cleric's total lack of athleticism, Siegmeyer had to help him put on the robes. Lex imagined the transformation to dragon-kin must have been spectacular if sorcerers could easily wear such equipment. The two men hid behind a bookshelf for modesty's sake while Sieglinde kept watch.

As Lex had only died twice since restoring his "humanity" – or rather the illusion of godly form – his naked body still looked mostly intact. Though he was lean from lack of exercise, his frame was broad, and he would have made an impressive warrior in another lifetime. Of course, the flesh about his heart was twisted in front and back and branded with the Darksign.

His silver hair was cut in a Carimin tonsure, which was actually a style of their long-gone tribal witch-doctors rather than the Thorolund standard. Of course, the Holy State was wise enough not to press the issue so long as the clerics _did_ cut their hair. As a result, instead of a large bald spot in the middle of his head, the back and sides were clean-shaven. The hair in front was long and unruly and tended to fall over his right ear.

The process of hollowing slowly wiped away individuality, so the muddy green of his right eye was long gone, the whole eye now a misty white. In spite of this, his holy left eye had retained its shape and nightshade violet coloration. Only, the pupil had subtly changed shape and was slightly too tall. The skin all around it had gone further than Carim's natural pale and was slowly bleaching, and a shock of black hair ran above it.

"Mmmm," Siegmeyer hummed. "It is not my intent to criticize the Goddess' prophet, but you must take better care of yourself, Lexion." A shadow crept into his voice as he continued, "It is easier than you think to begin slipping."

Lex was taken aback a little by the change in tone. He nodded.

"Sure thing, Siegmeyer. When we reach the bonfire, I'll use some of my humanity. I still have a little left from my journey to Lordran. I haven't been scavenging like I should have been since I got here."

"Well, if you ever need any, do not hesitate to ask. It is not something the gods can give us, after all. We undead must rely on each other."

The cleric smiled faintly as he put on the elaborate death mask, bearded and crowned. He was plunged into darkness. In spite of the six eyes painted on the front, it didn't actually have eye holes.

" _Human, do not restrict yourself to the world of Light. Just as the sun obscures the heavens with its brilliance, the Lord of Sunlight's lingering will conceals that which eluded him. Open your eyes to my holy cosmos!_ "

Lex focused on using his prophetic vision. He saw through the lightless mask and into the room. Just as Logan had said, the air was thick with souls. They unfolded before him like the night sky, countless orbs of shimmering blue-white moving through the Archives. A single great light shone above them all like the full moon.

" _I see you, Lexion of Lordham. Her mark will only damn you. Submit to my holy dicta and bathe in the Light of true and righteous divinity._ "

Overwhelmed both by the dragon's authority and by the sheer pressure of its soul, Lex fell to one knee before he realized what he was doing. Siegmeyer panicked and did the same.

" _That is proper piety. Come to me, child. I await in the uppermost chamber._ "

Lex awkwardly skipped to his feet. Siegmeyer looked up.

"Were we in holy presence? I do not know how the gods speak to us."

The cleric frowned.

"Sort of. It was the Duke. He must have been guiding my visions somehow."

It was a white lie, but Lex would rather not try to justify following the instructions of the monstrous White Dragon.

"He's watching us now. With any luck, we won't have any fights before we find him."

The old knight stood up and crossed his arms.

"Hmmm. Well, that is a small blessing at least. Are you going to keep wearing the disguise? I can't imagine that helm being comfortable."

"It's not. And the robes are really heavy. But I can't be bothered to take them off now that I have them on."

Siegmeyer chuckled as Lex headed back toward the main path.

"We're being watched," the cleric said as Sieglinde turned. "Keep an eye out."

"As you say, sir Prophet."

The knightess grabbed the rim of her onion helm and opened it like a clam. It split along the eye slit and slid halfway into the brim.

"Father, be prepared to shield his holiness. It doesn't look like he can move much in those robes."

The elder knight nodded, and the trio continued. At last the storeroom came to an end, and they passed into a hallway which extended in either direction. Even this was luxuriously spacious, more than large enough for a giant to pass. Sieglinde caught sight of some guards on the floor above, but they either didn't notice the intruders or had reason not to attack.

Between the knights for safety, Lex directed them onward, eventually coming to stop at a recessed door without any means of opening. Sieglinde stood at ready while her father pulled a nearby lever. There was a rumble of gears as the door slid to one side.

"You've done this quite a lot, haven't you?" Lex said.

"Not at all. These sorts of mechanical devices are as rare in Catarina as anywhere else. Where you see then, they are often like this, though. Mm. Look. It is a bookshelf. Cowardly nobles sometimes use these sorts of devices to escape from their own holds."

Indeed, the "door" was the back of another large bookshelf. At last, they stepped out into one of the main libraries.

They entered into a side channel where columns upheld the next floor. Even this was stupendous in scale. The floor stretched out forever, white tiles stained with golden leaves left to fade with age. Lanterns with vine patterns hung from the walls high above, and Lex saw the winged egg motif from Sen's Fortress carved into the buttresses.

All that was nothing. Sieglinde's eyes went wide, and Siegmeyer fell over backward from trying to look up through his helmet's eye slit. Onward and onward and onward, the ceiling rose. Its sprawling walkways and mechanically-driven staircases towered to such a height that they began to blur at the edge of vision.

This was not an empty storehouse filled to the brim with leftovers. Every book here was considered to be one of the world's greatest. It would be impossible for humans to replicate such a feat; this was a collection of knowledge beyond mortal beings.

" _This is truth. Much as I hate to speak well of Gwyn's Queen, she championed a grand library for Man in the southern capital. After Gwyn's people left that city, the library was destroyed, as is the way of humans. Ahead is the bonfire I arranged for guests. Hurry, if you wish to save the child of Izalith._ "

Lex took a breath.

"Sieglinde, do you see anything?"

"I don't, but it is difficult to judge. There are too many blind spots."

Setting aside the upper levels, the ground floor was vast. Countless rows of god-sized bookshelves lined the center like a maze. Strangely, human-sized chairs and tables had been set out in spite of the books being twice the proper size or more and in spite of the dragon's distaste for humans.

" _Distaste is imprecise. How does a gardener feel about all the slithering and crawling things which dwell in his garden? Some of them are useful, even vital for the lifecyle of the flora in his care. He must cultivate the utile and exterminate the vile. Make no mistake – your kind are vermin – your kings, lords of flies. Yet you have your uses, the curious ones most of all._ "

Lex's eye peered through time, watching long-dead human scholars study alongside the gods. The gods dwindled over time until there were none left. Yet the humans remained, even after becoming undead. The channelers were many and were scattered across all the mortal lands, acting as the invisible eyes of the White Dragon.

The prophet's eye twitched and his head began to throb as his vision ran away from him, looking for something. The vision settled on a channeler holding some report. The White Dragon had been in the center of the library.

It was a monster with three writhing tendrils covered in cilia instead of legs. Its six wings were insectile and scintillating instead of the four sturdy wings of an ancient dragon. Its body was lean and frail like a hollow's, and crystals jutted from every surface like the deformed slave they had seen before. Glimmering crystal dust followed its every movement as its snaking neck flitted among the bookshelves.

" _We have found the one, Father Seath_ ," the channeler had said, " _the true 'Artorias.' He is too young, so we believe his unexpected presence in Oolacile to be the result of temporal tampering._ "

" _All too likely_ ," the dragon had hissed. " _The prince has revealed an affinity for Moonlight. What information have you gathered about our time traveler?_ "

" _He is named Lexion, born in Lordham. We discovered him because he recently entered training at the Cathedral of the Deep. His father is-_ "

Abruptly, the dragon's "voice" broke in through the vision.

" _What do you see, child? That none of this is coincidence? Even vermin must bear the yoke of fate._ "

Lex's breath caught in his throat. Even his visions weren't safe from intrusion.

" _Of course not. Your eye is stolen power and I, the source. There is much to speak of. Cease dallying and hurry to the inner library. I see all, but I may overlook an eavesdropper. We must speak face-to-face._ "

"Prophet Lex," Sieglinde said. "You look a little ill. Should we rest before pushing ahead?"

He shook his head. His eye twitched, and he saw the path to the bonfire.

"My vision is becoming taxing in such a holy place, but I'm fine. We're close. Just a little further, and we should be safe."

"Mmmm," Siegmeyer hummed. "Well, don't overwork yourself. It does us no good to escort you if you fall to exhaustion instead of enemies. Don't hesitate to warn us if you begin feeling faint."

He nodded, and they continued. They followed the wall as it curved around, the room being a long hemisphere. In the silence of the library, it wasn't long before they heard the quiet hum of an inactive bonfire. Only, they heard something else too. It was distant but growing closer, faster than they were walking. It was like a cross between a creaking door and mocking laughter.

Just ahead, the library opened to a balcony overlooking the garden outside. The group could hear the bonfire ahead, just around the corner. Only, a strange little creature blocked their path. A crab, of all things.

It was perhaps the size of a small dog, with a powerful left claw almost assuredly larger than its unseen torso. The claws and legs reached out from a mostly-shattered eggshell that was about the size of an onion helm. Black crystals glinted within the shell, and Abyssal blue-black ichor oozed against the edges, nearly spilling over onto the white tiles. Tall, luminous mushrooms grew from the Dark, shining unnaturally against the sunlight streaming in from the garden.

" _A vagrant? Impossible! Smash it before it releases its spores!_ "

"Hurry! Smash that before it-!"

The crab lashed its mushrooms forward. White stars shot out from them, streaming and writhing through the air like serpents. Even in the twinkling of Lex's twinkling soul vision, they glinted with unnnatural light. Before he could move in the heavy robes, the projectiles had struck the medallions on his chest as if to blind the brass eyes. The armored robes held, but Lex fell dead anyway, ribs crushed from the impact.

Seamlessly now that he was used to it, he opened his eyes and sat up in Caffrey's chamber.

"What the Flame was that?"

"Lexion?"

"Yes, Goddess."

Lex slid off the pillow and took a knee on the table. The goddess Caffrey hurried to meet him. This time, she didn't have to dash across the room. Before, it had seemed as though she grew larger or older depending on her mood. Now, she had aged a number of years and was too tall to simply stoop over the table. Lex almost fell again as she dove onto the wood, slamming her fingertips and chin onto it to reach his eye level.

"Have you spoken with _Sîdh Arod_? What did he say?"

"I've spoken with him from a distance, Lady Caffrey. He didn't want to discuss anything important until we met face-to-face. Unfortunately, I was killed by some sort of giant enemy crab."

"A crab?"

"Yes. It was corrupted by Dark and had glowing mushrooms growing out of the eggshell it wore. The fungus fired some sort of projectile which killed me instantly."

"How unfortunate. _Emelon_ keeps an _aerlinn_ which protects against such dangers as sudden death."

The goddess pursed her lips and hummed.

"There may be a reason she did not teach you, but you are already defying her. What would it hurt if I taught you instead?"

Caffrey gave a mischievous smirk and raised her hands.

"This is not quite the same _aerlinn_ that _Emelon_ teaches. This is mine. I'm quite proud of it. _Muinthelon_ gave it the highest praise. Now, watch carefully."

Fountains of gold appeared in either hand, and she clapsed them together in prayer.

 _All things must one day rest, but there are sins I must mend, I confess. So I pray with final breath,_  
 _Let this form go beyond death!_

As she chanted, her pleading hands grew brighter and brighter as she was enveloped in golden sunlight. Lex shielded his eyes with both arms to block as much of it as he could without looking away. The sunlight burst in a final flash, and a starstorm of blue-green energy whirled around the goddess.

"That was _Addâf_ , Second Chance," she said at last. "It is a prayer for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Lex said, trying to blink the light out of his eyes. "Sins, confession? Isn't that my Lady's domain? Why does the Goddess of Luck grant forgiveness? What was that sunlight?"

Caffrey tilted her head, confused.

"I am _Araniel_."

"Isn't that part of your name? What does that mean?"

"Oh! OH! I'm so sorry! I never thought I would meet a human who did not know! Especially a cleric!"

Lex winced. He wasn't the best at studying, but he thought he did well enough. Apparently not.

"Ah, and I've remembered the last part now that Lord Ludleth has wiped the cobwebs out of my head."

She paused, dazed.

"I remember. Not everything. Enough."

The goddess snapped back, worry in her eyes.

"Hurry, Lexion, the Duke! There is no time! If he will not heed the name of my _Emelon_ , then mine own must do! Order him if you must! You may forget the rest, but demand the Duke help in the name of _Lían Gwâniel_ , Gwynllian! I am Gwynllian!"

Lex let the words sink in. A child of Lord Gwyn! There was no record of a Gwynllian, but after seeing that miracle, he didn't doubt it. The glory of the sun and forgiveness of sin – she had to be the daughter of Gwyn and Beryf. She even had her mother's ravenblack hair.

This was bigger than he had imagined. He wasn't just serving the gods' queen-dowager, who had no power and needed to move in the shadows. Gwyn's line had vanished, and rulership had passed to a god who was only questionably the First Lord's uncle. True royalty was giving him a mission.

His courage gave way, and he pressed his forehead to the ground.

"Send me back, and I will speak to the Duke immediately, Princess Gwynllian!"

The goddess gave a sad smile. She had aged again and looked quite tired, as if all the youth had gone out of her.

"You, at least, may still call me Caffrey."

She took up a candle and blew the smoke over him. Lex panicked for a moment as he realized that he would find himself alone on the Parish side of Sen's Fortress. When the smoke had cleared, though, Lex found himself in a different room of the Archives.

" _Behold my mastery of the soul,_ " Seath hissed, already intruding in his mind again. " _It is the nature of all living things to seek the warmth of hearth and home. Yet I did not let your soul wander away to_ _ **her**_ _abandoned church. Your instincts led you again to my breast, to the light of true divinity._ "

Now that the onion knights weren't around to call him crazy, Lex openly replied.

"Even a dragon can get a god complex, huh?"

The cleric shuddered as he _felt_ the dragon smile. It was like a hungry beast licking the back of his neck.

" _See for yourself. You are at the front of my Archives now. Proceed but forward, and you will find the inner chambers where I dwell. None of my servants will lay hand upon you. Only, as you are without escort, do avoid those things which are not my kin or kith._ "

Lex hesitated to think too deeply while the Duke was "listening," but he made a mental note to return to that idea. "True divinity." Berenike had said that too. Still, it was a little disturbing that a dragon had some measure of control over the bonfires.

The cleric looked around. He found himself in a grand entry hall. There was a lectern where he saw there had once been a servant to direct visitors. After the Great Lord had sealed the Archives, there was no need for anything of the sort. There were still a few podiums holding books describing the library rules, organization, policies, and the like. These had not been needed and so were abandoned here.

Yet even here, the lanterns were lit. These were not like the torches of Asylum, blindly replaced by hollows. The prophet could see golden motes of magic dancing within. It was not at all like sorcery or the prismatic crystal dust of the golems. Where had he seen those golden flakes before?

Along the walls, he saw the floral patterns of the exterior library continued. These were different. They didn't seem significant in any way, but it was peculiar. Hadn't Seath mentioned something about gardening? Lex couldn't imagine it, the thought of that monstrous creature demurely trimming trees in the forest outside.

" _There is yet a flicker of intelligence in you. Yet clearly not enough if you waste even one moment pondering my mystery while the people of Izalith suffer._ "

At that, Lex dashed directly up the stairs. Front and center of the chamber, there was a raised platform. In the center of the stone platform, there was a wooden one which had rails and a gate. Lex stepped onto the elevator and pulled the lever.

Gears drove the gate closed behind him and swiftly drove the platform up through a slot in the ceiling. While he waited, the curious cleric looked down at the mechanism through a grate at the front. Tremendous cogs were wedged between wooden rails stretching the length of the shaft. They driven by an unseen force, spinning their teeth through channels in the rails and propelling the whole platform upward.

It wasn't a tremendously complicated mechanism, honestly. There was no reason that humans couldn't produce the same, especially when the cogs were so large. The only problem, then was resources. How many horses would go without shoes in order to make such tremendous slabs of iron? Again, his merchant heart burned.

The room at the top was nearly identical to the one he had left. It was a little darker without the bonfire, and the stairs led into the Archives proper, rather than just to an elevator. The books left here were a mix of library maps and, peculiarly, samples. The Duke had left some introductory works to ease newcomers into the depths of knowledge held within.

" _I had thought to educate those who wished to learn. It is not dissimilar from what you have been told of the Witch of Izalith. That is because she is but an impersonator. Fire sorcery and dragon demons? Her work is as full of rubbish as the sewers where her children live._ "

"You knew, and you didn't do anything?"

" _Izalith refused my kindness once, as did Nito. It is fortunate that Gwyn possessed greater wit. He could truly_ _ **see**_ _. Holy eye or not, false prophecy or not, do you possess sufficient vision to truly take his throne? I can not whether any one mortal lives or dies, but that my garden is preserved. I will grant my blessing to whosoever is the greatest champion of that goal, be it you or Quelaag. Now, cease your complaints and hurry._ "


	33. Announcement: Resuming and cut content

Readers who missed the big event can skip to the cut content section below.

* * *

There was a great outpouring of support for Ring of Condemnation. Certainly more than I expected. There were a few folks who would rather we move on to another story, but that was actually a surprising minority. I'm glad to have heard from all of you, and I can say with pleasure that we'll be continuing with Ring of Condemnation to the end! (Unless I explode or something.)

Going forward, I'll try to be less over-smart in some of my narration and references. Still, if there's anything you don't understand, say something in a review or a PM. It might be an actual mistake! Even the games make them, like how Henri of Astora is written "Anri"! If there's anything you want me to go over again, either as the author or in the narration, just say so, and I'll try to make it clearer without giving away the puzzle.

* * *

Now, since I don't want to waste a chapter slot on an old announcement, and I don't want to make the reviews section confusing by replacing it with a regular chapter, I'm going to go ahead and post some "deleted scenes" to fill space.

* * *

# The Morion Sword

Originally, I was going to give Lex the Morion Sword, since it suited him as a purely utility weapon. However, I decided the lore for the weapon didn't quite make sense as coming from the Ringed City. Rather, it was probably crafted in Drangleic, centuries later.

* * *

"Well, if you don't mind, Goddess Caffrey, I find myself lacking a weapon. I've been making due with my lash and my wand, but I wouldn't have to run screaming so often if I had a real weapon."

The goddess was thoughtful.

"Will a real - ceremonial - weapon be sufficient?"

"I'll take whatever you have at this point."

She nodded and took to one of the walls. Though it had been hard to see in the dim candlelight, there was a black blade hanging there. It was a wicked-looking barbed straightsword with a unique crossguard. While the floral cross was rather normal, a strange triangle extended from it for a hand's length, studded as if to break blades.

Caffrey took the sword weightily and extended it to Lex. The weapon resized itself for him without any show of magic from the goddess. The cleric took it and raised it to the light. It was a wicked thing, meant only to cause pain.

"It is a symbol," Caffrey said solemnly, "of my city. Eight blades united by a single spine, as I unite your Lords".

* * *

# Caffrey sends luck to Izalith

Originally, I gave more of a hint to her true nature when Lex asked for help in Izalith. I really regret removing the discussion about Lex's motives, but treating luck more like a consumable item was bad for the mystique.

* * *

"Will you refuse me again?"

"I must. A merchant's son repays his debts."

"Yet you act against your mistress? Your debt will only grow."

"I said merchant; not moneylender. Sometimes you have to take a loss to build good relations. If Izalith lends even a small part of its strength to humans, we could start to take back what we've lost from the Curse."

The goddess crouched to look directly at Lex. Larger than ever, her eyes were each nearly as tall as he was. Worse, they'd changed. That subtle problem with them revealed itself at last. The pupils had been slightly stretched. Now, they had lengthened all the way, the slitted eyes of a predator facing him. Lex saw his own groveling reflection in her blue left eye. Strangely, he was less hollowed than he'd been before dying.

"I wonder," Caffrey said. "Are you callous or generous?"

"I just do what I think is right. Serving the gods was a cost-benefit decision, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to help people. I _am_ still human."

"Yes," the goddess said softly. "That is the virtue of humans. Selflessness, no matter how small. Something the gods of Flame must learn. We are not born with it as you are. We think differently. We lack the instinct to huddle together in the Dark."

The goddess shrank to her original size with a flurry of gold dust. Without a word, she returned to hide under her blankets. Thunder rumbled outside, and the black rain beat even harder. After a moment, the goddess' head popped out.

"I cannot stop _Emelon_ , and it will be difficult for you to seek audience with _Sîdh Arod_. Even if you gain his support, it may be too late. I cannot bestow luck upon gods, but demons are tainted with humanity. I have given all I am able."

* * *

# Seath overshares

Make sure you finish the next chapter before reading these. What follows are several different cuts from Lex and Seath's first in-person conversation. In each of these, Seath explains a little too much - about the world or himself or whatever he's talking about. You'll see that I toned down the Bloodborne terminology a lot by the final cut.

* * *

" _When you die again in that world, you return to your body in this one. When the Age of Fire is restored, the Sea of Humanity there will become calm, and the lighthouse will guide a ship to those shores. Humans will again be able to sail to the true hereafter. So long as the storm rages, you are bound to return to your bodies, even if the strain drives you mad."_

* * *

" _That brand on your soul anchored your conscious mind to it, so that you could wake up while still within the dream. When you next die, remember that you are a lucid dreamer. Test the limits of your control._ "

"What are you trying to say? That reality is a dream or-?"

" _A dream, yes. And you serve the nightmare._ "

* * *

" _It is in our blood. Blood defines the nature of an organism. Not merely the physical ichor but the tincture of souls. It is only by great effort or soulcraft that one may overcome nature. I am older than souls. My blood is all I am._ "

* * *

" _Gwyn knew his people lacked the supreme will to reignite the Flame, and so he bound yours to do so. So too, he bound his beloved child at the edge of death to preserve both her life and Flame._ "

* * *

"What happens if humans fail to save the Flame?"

" _You cannot. It has been ordained. The Flame may flicker but never fade. Like the turning of seasons, my garden will be reborn vernally. Dream without end, umbasa. This is the order of my cosmos._ "

"Why does it sound like **you're** the real Enemy?"


	34. Would I Lie to You

The path ahead was patrolled by a number of crystallized slaves with rudimentary armaments, just like the one at the garden entrace. Lex tried not to look at the runic shield again. Strangely, there was a crystal golem huddling in the corner. Lex hadn't seen a golem inside in the back of the Archives. It was strange that there was one here, of all places. Why hadn't a channeler or the like guided it to wherever it was meant to be?

" _I would tell you to ignore it, but such warnings are never heeded. Instead, I will simply state: that construct has been contaminated. There is a cursed object within it which has affected its programming. Now, focus on the task at hand. Truly, you are the servant of a bird – distracted by every shining bauble._ "

Lex nodded, then walked toward the golem anyway. Though the souls-infused crystal held most of the energy frozen, golden motes slowly drifted out of the golem. It was the same power as kept the lanterns lit, though there was something else to it. The golem turned toward Lex, and they stared at one another.

" _Back, manling! I cannot control that one!_ "

The golem raised its fist threateningly, and Lex took one step back. Before the deacon could react, the golem smashed its own chest and shattered into prismatic dust. The sealed item clattered to the floor. Lex felt a throbbing in his chest. It called to him.

" _Amusing. The golem's faulty intelligence must have accumulated errors over time. Now, stand away from the cursed pendant. I must send a specialist team to retrieve it, lest it defile my other servants._ "

Lex looked through the walls at the light that was Seath's soul. He took a step forward.

" _You are not going to play this game._ "

Lex took a step forward.

" _Do you wish my aid or not, vermin?_ "

"So," Lex said, looking the glowing orb dead-on, "technically, my Lady told me never to trust you. However, I have some leverage right now."

He walked to the item lying on the ground but didn't yet reach for it. He licked his lips and forced himself to keep staring instead of immediately grabbing it.

"It sounds like you really don't like Her Highness, Beryf. Fair enough, she _is_ the patron deity of Carim, and we're kind of assholes. Like I'm being right now!"

" _You speak to Glânlug-en-Sîdh, Aer, Aer, Aer! I am the one who guided civilization from infancy! It was I who groomed the Lord of Sunlight and taught him the true secret of Light! I am the divine dragon, whose mandate is eternal! The garden is mine to groom! You, human, are an insect clinging to the back of the wild beast which destroys my harvest!_ "

"Well, if you're so smart, oh master gardener, why don't you read my mind and find out who told me to come here in spite of my Lady's advice?"

The shining moon of Seath's soul shuddered.

" _So_ _ **that**_ _is her game! Fool! Hurry! We_ _ **must**_ _speak before your curiosity gets you killed!_ "

"Gwyn's name must mean a lot if his daughter-"

" _ **Silence**_ _!_ "

Lex didn't hear Seath give the order, but he saw countless souls begin to rush toward him. The Duke's servants were on alert now. The cursed item practically sprang into his hand. He gave it a good look before the cultists could seize it. It was a pendant; a broken, old, and ruddy stone wrapped in dried vines. He looked at the stone, and the stone looked back with a sleepy gaze.

The prophet saw the red stone, whole. He saw the great maw of petrified wood and the shackled avatar pressed in the mud. This was an heirloom older than the earth. It demanded he bring more souls. His vision faded to white.

By the time Lex had regained his senses, a pair of channelers were dragging him off of another elevator platform.

"The fool awakens, brother," one said in a channeler's usual, maggoty voice.

"This is no mere fool, brother. Do you not know? This is Knight Artorias of legend."

"Knight Artorias was a godling, brother. This is a mere manling. Surely, you mean one of Alvina's Forest Hunters."

"No! Artorias himself, brother! Isn't that right, Lexion of Lordham? Regale us of how you saved lost Oolacile from the Enemy!"

"Now I know you're mistaken, brother. Look there! This one bears the Enemy's covenant rune!"

"Of course he does, brother! Who else could send him to the past?"

"Really, brother? You think the Enemy would send an undead to the past just to destroy her original form? As part of some elaborate, centuries-spanning plan? You are too swayed by her mystique."

Lex was quite confused. What did he have to do with Artorias? Hadn't a channeler said something about that in a vision too? He glanced down. It looked like the channelers had left him with the broken pendant. Its rough edges were digging into his hand from having unconsciously gripped it so hard.

"Not very chatty, are you?" the channeler who called him Artorias said.

"It doesn't matter, brother. Our path ends here."

They threw him to the ground. They were in a small, pitch-black room, though Lex could still see with his holy eye. Crystals were growing on the walls in patches like mold.

"If you're awake, you can go the rest of the way yourself, 'hero of time.'"

"I- What?"

" _Do not indulge him, my children. He has proven beyond courtesy._ "

"As you will, Father," the channelers said in unison.

They genuflected before descending on the elevator. With that platform missing, there was a drop of several storeys between him and the wall. There was no railing to keep him from falling, but suicide wasn't exactly helpful when the dragon could control his connection to the bonfires.

The room was pointless; just a cage. There was a podium where an attendant had once taken the Duke's guests, but that post too was long abandoned. There was nowhere for Lex to go but directly to the Duke's private library. He slipped the pendant around his neck and moved on. An unlit hallway set into the side wall twisted into the darkness. It didn't affect Lex, but it must have been unsettling for past visitors, to pass into blindness before meeting with the blind Duke.

As the passage wrapped around, light streamed through from the end. The tunnel kept winding around the library below, but ahead it had become a staircase, with open windows to provide light and fresh air. The first thing Lex saw wasn't the stairs, though. One of the golden pilgrim-knights from the Ringed City blocked his path. The knight was slumped where he stood under the weight of the crystals jutting from his body.

" _Continue,_ " the Duke hissed. " _You are lucky that I cannot enslave you as I did these vermin._ "

Lex swallowed his dread and continued toward the stairs. Only, the crystallized knight didn't move.

" _Evade!_ "

The warning was too late. The knight dropped its sword and shield and lurched forward. It grabbed Lex's sides, nearly toppling both of them over.

"Prin…cess… Dus…k…"

One hand fumbled across Lex's chest until it found the broken stone pendant. The white eyes of a hollow looked through the brass mask. Lex saw reflected in them a tall, pale, and proud youth.

He had flowing black locks, eyes that glittered emerald, and the noble features of the gods. He was dressed as a common rogue, with only a loose-fitting tunic which showed his chest, a girdle, and a sash. Only, the tunic was shining ivory thread inlaid with gold embroidery in the pattern of roses, and the sash was the violet of royalty, embroidered with an even more elaborate pattern. Around his neck hung a pendant which was pair to Lex's, save that it was black as night.

The prophet heard him speak, all those years ago.

" _It's come to this, then,_ " the man said. " _My sister can't be allowed to put herself or others at risk again. I know there's only a few of you left, but you have to bring her back, for all our sakes._ "

His face became a mask of utter loathing, and his lilting voice became a growl.

" _Don't let the gods find you. And if you see the Xanthous King, lynch him with his own headwrap!_ "

The intensity was so much that Lex snapped back to the present. The hollow was still clutching at his chest.

"Where… Prin…cess…"

Lex kneed the knight hard, knocking the air out of it. That didn't really stop a hollow, though. It kept grabbing at him even as it gasped. The cleric sighed and fumbled through the heavy robes for his wand. He unleashed a shockwave, blasting the knight up the stairs.

"So what did end up happening to that princess, Seath?"

" _All will be revealed in the Light, though you do not deserve its splendor. Come and behold._ "

Lex twirled the tin rod between his fingers, watching Velka's hair flow on its end. This was his last chance to obey her command and return to his mission. He grasped the wand and started up the stairs.

As Lex climbed, the crystal patches grew more elaborate, from a light dusting to discrete spikes which jutted dangerously across his path. His feet slipped as crystals spread across the steps. Then, he began to slide back as the stairway became a frosted ramp. He began to crouch and weave through the larger crystals as they became an overgrown forest.

Only after great effort did he reach the top, panting a little from the climb. A soul fog blocked his path. He took a deep breath.

"Now that I think of it, isn't this passage human-sized?"

Seath made a gurgling sound that Lex assumed was laughter.

" _Of course. This is the servant's entrance. My, don't you look the part?_ "

"Gwyn's balls!"

Lex removed the channeler's six-eyed facemask and threw it to the floor. He thrust through the fog with his wand and stepped into the Duke's personal library. It could hardly be used now, as crystals covered most of the room. The books were frozen onto the shelves, preserved for all time. There were great windows to provide light, but they were crystallized and dark. The only light in the room shone from the dragon's immense soul.

It was a hideous beast, more like a cross between butterfly, fish, and hollow than a dragon. Pearlescent skin gleamed beneath six glittering azure wings. The dragon's torso was like the gnarled roots of a tree, tendrils snaking around the room. Even the dragon was overwhelmed by the crystals, which pinned it to the floor. Strangely, there were no other entrances to the room. Had it been built around the Duke?

" _Only a servant has need of a physical passage, and so only one was constructed. Welcome, ignorant slave of the Enemy._ "

"You're going to have to explain that one," Lex said, waving his spike of a wand threateningly.

The dragon's long neck snaked down to his level, staring at him without eyes.

" _All were deceived. Your master is not what he appears._ "

"Um? He?"

" _It matters not for such beings, who predate and have no need for reproduction._ "

"What? What are you saying? That my Lady is-?"

" _You serve the ancient evil, the Enemy. My Enemy. The fundamental force of disruption, of societal collapse, of moral decay. I am the order of the cosmos, and he is the entropy, the decay, the rot, the perversion, the taint._ "

"Right, and this fundamental force of societal collapse unified the eastern gods before marrying the king of the western gods."

" _The perfect disguise._ "

"You're full of shit."

" _Where better to truly destroy something than from its very heart? What has become of Gwyn's legacy? Where are your false gods now?_ "

"It's kind of hard to miss Allfather Lloyd."

" _An illusion of my manufacture. Lloyd died before the first dragon fell._ "

"There's at least an impostor who makes appearances-"

" _A proxy. The secret King of Anor Londo wears Lloyd as a mask._ "

"What's even the point if there _is_ a King of Anor Londo?"

A disgusting smile curled across the dragon's maw.

" _The present king is not the direct heir and possesses an unsightly form. The remaining Noldor would not accept him, yet they blithely obey an obvious impostor._ "

Lex clenched his wand.

"What about Princess Gwynllian? A child of Lord Gwyn should rule! Why is she imprisoned? What is that place I see when I die?"

" _Do you know solipsism?_ "

The deacon blinked and tried to remember his philosophical readings.

"The theory that the only thing which can be proven is that you, yourself, exist."

" _Even the reality in which you exist may not itself exist. It may be a trick of your fevered mind. If there were to exist a perfect being, such as myself, reality may be a deliberate deception._ "

Briefly, Lex saw Seath as _something else_. He heard echoes of what the monster had said before – _aer, aer, aer_. The prophet choked on his own breath.

" _When your kind die, your minds are trapped in a nightmarish afterlife by Gwyn's artifice, a web woven by Izalith and Gwynllian. You are perceived as monsters, and so there you_ _ **are**_ _._ "

"What purpose does that serve? Why is the Princess trapped there if she created it? What was the relationship between gods and demons?"

" _You ask more than you need to know, slave. You are not sworn to me, and I owe you nothing._ "

"What of the princess' orders?"

The dragon wheezed a laugh.

" _A sleeping girl's whims. I respected Gwyn as a man, the most brilliant of mortals. Do you think his seal keeps me here? You, who were trivially flown over it?_ "

"It was a symbol, then, to-"

" _It was to protect my research from meddling Noldor false-gods and Human vermin. My perceived motives are infamous, are they not? The lone mortal dragon sadly seeks the eternal life he was born without. How petty you mortals think. Life is meaningless. I seek eternal_ _ **Light**_ _._ "

Lex took a deep breath and let his mind drift back to the demon swamp.

"My Lady spoke frankly to me. She doesn't care whether Flame or Dark wins. Can you not work together? If you're both beyond such 'petty' concerns as life, why fight?"

" _Your master is anathema. Even being in his presence is tainting. Long-calculated outcomes must be reevaluted. Loyalties are no longer guaranteed. Observe the failings of kings and false-gods and see you master's black prints on the marionette strings. I had long wondered where I had gone wrong in mentoring the Noldor. They were misled._

 _Gwyn was quite literally seduced by evil. Its wicked seed became the root of the royal bloodline. Each heir faltered and failed._ "

"Princess Gwynllian did? She seems eager to undo the evils which began in her absence."

The crystal-pinned dragon couldn't possibly reach Lex, but it did anyway. It held him in too-long human fingers and looked down at him.

" _Do not encourage that child to remember. She must remain in that dreary dream. She is trapped in a delicate loop of my devising. So long as she sleeps, the Age of Fire cannot end, for she is oblivious to its decline. Her expectation that Flame will still be there when she awakens ensures that it will be._

 _Thus do I order reality with the illusion of eternal Light while I seek it in truth. If the girl remembers the circumstances of her slumber, then she may awaken and so undo my deception. It is by no small art that the sun yet hangs in the sky._ "

"What about Izalith, then? You resented the Witch of Izalith, but she's dead or transformed into the demon seedbed. Can you not work with Quelaag? Honestly, it felt like she might have hated my Lady more than you. She would surely welcome your expertise and experience in rebuilding the Witches' Kingdom.

As little as you think of Flame magics, surely the demons are better for your purposes. You don't seem to have a very high opinion of the gods either."

" _You find the main topic at last. I began to imagine you cared more for the dreaming princess than for the demon princess._ "

"There is a daughter of Lord Gwyn! This changes everything!"

" _It changes nothing. Your master has given you means to remain conscious on the Sea of Humanity, and much as it galls me, I cannot take that from you. However, you are not to disturb Gwynllian's slumber. She is the lynchpin of the Age of Fire, renewed wax upon an overused candle. More terrible things than even my divine wrath will come, should you awaken her._ "

"Fine. That Adar creature and the bald Pygmy Lord seemed adamant about it too."

At last, Seath released Lex, callously letting him fall to the crystal-slick floor. He slipped and fell on his butt.

" _I will aid Izalith. It is as you say. Quelaag is quite useful for my purposes and will be moreso once she begins her aggressive expansion. She is every bit the ruler I had hoped the firstborn of Gwyn would be. I will dispatch channelers to observe the situation while I prepare my manserpent dragon-hunters._ "

Lex's heart sank. He'd felt it, but now he knew. Two rows of teeth. Four wings.

"So it's true? When you said ancient evil…" He swallowed before finishing: "…you meant a dragon?"

" _More than a dragon, but it is not your place to understand._ "

"She said the same thing you did! From the beginning! That was the last of the true gods!"

" _Of course he would. Deception is part and parcel of his domain. Who are you going to believe? The Duke of Anor Londo or a disgraced and outcast witch? A scholar who stands proud above the machinations of the Noldor or a rebel whose following dwelt always in dark places, in cursed mausoleums and political backrooms?_ "

"Aren't you an illusionist, hypocrite?"

Lex felt the dragon's mind stop. A genuine smile somehow worked its way onto a flesh-rending maw.

" _I do love it when mortals learn. Hold still._ "

In spite of his better judgment, Lex held his breath and froze. Seath reached to touch his forehead but stopped just short. Two fingers leveled with his eyes while a third rose above them. The thumb and little finger extended to either side. The prophet _heard_ something. It was like the echo of a distant shore. He saw a star with an eye for its heart.

" _Your master gave you a sign but did not give you the means to use it. It was enough for his purpose that you possessed it, and that it gave you opportunity to awaken the sleeping princess. I have given you another. Fear not for your master's reprisal; this one does not bind you to me as hers does._

 _Can you hear the rhythm of my cosmos? This sign is a revelation of revelations. Keep it in mind, and you will see many things unseen. Your gift of prophecy is stolen, and the insight it grants is a fragment of my power. Focus on the sign I give you, and even this defiled scrap of my magic will one day bloom into a fine addition to my garden._ "

"Wow, really?"

" _Truly._ "

"I mean, you definitely deflected the question, though. Can I use this to see what you tried avoiding there?"

"Too late!"

Lex focused his vision through the eye burning in the center of the star and gazed at Seath's glimmering soul-form, trying to pry into the ancient dragon's mind. He only saw Seath's _other_ shape. He wept, and he did not know why. In the back of his mind, he heard _aer, aer, aer_.

" _Training animals has never been a favored task of mine._ "

A phantasmal arm gripped Lex's skull with three crystal talons.

" _You will reawaken in Anor Londo. Descend further to the Silver Knight memorial. Pray to the statue of Gwyn that the King of Anor Londo aid in suppressing the Enemy before Izalith is further ruined. Speak of your master in purely neutral terms if you wish to leave Anor Londo in the same state of mind as you entered. Now, be gone from my sight._ "

Lex briefly wished he'd kept the channeler's helmet before his head exploded.

He slapped his cheeks to ensure they were still there, then felt his forehead for any sign of growing extra eyes. He was fine, probably. Even if he wasn't, couldn't he _make_ himself alright? He remembered the Duke's words – " _You are perceived as monsters, and so there you_ _ **are**_ _._ " He was so lost in thought that he somehow managed to miss Caffrey as she loomed over him.

"Lexion, are you here? Have you only half arrived? What has happened to you?"

"Huh? What? P-Princess!"

Lex fell to one knee.

"I must apologize, Princess. I was lost in thought."

"It is quite alright, Lexion. What has happened? I had hardly turned around before you appeared again! Are the Duke's Archives truly so dangerous?"

"Ah," Lex said, feeling his face again. "Yes, uh, no! My relationship with the Duke has proven very hot and cold. He killed me when our discussion was over. He said I'll awaken in Anor Lond-ohhhhh…"

He probably shouldn't have said "awaken."

"I wish I could say that I refuse to believe it, but the Duke is not a kind man. I'm remembering more and more. Not kind but necessary. A sacrifice my father made. I must apologize for sending you to Duke Seath without suitable defenses. Of course one miracle was not enough."

The goddess curtsied and bowed her head just slightly, as was politically appropriate. She had aged again.

"No, Princess, it's fine! I'm undead! Not-dying is what we're good at! I didn't even have the opportunity to cast your miraculous… miracle. My death was my own fault. Duke Seath is not terribly fond of Her Highness, the Queen-Dowager. As her servant, I felt the need to speak in her defense."

"I am sure _Emelo-_ my Revered Mother will appreciate what you have suffered on her behalf. Please, forgive my imprecise diction. It is as if a haze is clearing from my mind. We can hardly claim to guide humans if we cannot perfectly speak the language we gave you."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Princess," Lex said, bowing his head for fear of seeming patronizing.

"Raise your head, Lexion. It was my mistake. You need not look away to protect my pride. Indeed. You are not my servant. I would never look down upon my Revered Mother's agent."

"You cannot have such a high opinion of me, Princess. I haven't really done anything. I'm sure Oscar and Solaire are halfway done with their Pilgrimage. I've just followed others the whole time."

"That is not true! Strength is more than raw power! Think of the Lord's Blade Ciaran! With her shining blade of light, she hunted down criminals and traitors who hid in plain sight!"

The goddess had forgotten herself and swung an imaginary sword while making slashing noises with her mouth.

"Ah!" she said after a moment.

She pouted and returned to leaning over the table. The blush on her pale face was like the red of dawn.

"Ciaran was no great warrior," the goddess continued, pretending the incident hadn't just happened. "At least not after she laid down her arms. It was no sword or miracle which revealed those criminals. It was her keen mind and ability to judge people. These are the traits Revered Mother values most."

She gave a faint smile.

"If you learn these, you could be a fine Pardoner one day. But I sincerely hope that you will not choose that path of judgment and bloody mercies. I would see you work with Lord Ludleth, to better Man by _being better men_."

"Do you really think so highly of me?" Lex said, feeling the empty eyehole where his holy eye still hadn't healed in the dream. "I'm just someone who wandered in."

Gwynllian closed her eyes and nodded.

"True. It could have been someone else… someone… else…"

Her eyes snapped open again. The subtlety to their natural wrongness became less subtle. As she inhaled sharply and her eyes bulged, her pupils became slitted for only a moment. The stony eyes of an ancient dragon. The tower rumbled as the titan below began charging up the stairs.

"Princess Gwynllian? Princess? Goddess Caffrey?"

At last, she turned, looking paler than ever. Her breathing was shallow, and as the scorched monster burst through the door, she gave it a look of resentment so cold that even it froze in place. She tried to turn back to Lex, but her fingers shivered on the tabletop, and her eyes burned silver and gold.

When she spoke, her mouth barely moved.

"You _are_ just someone who wandered in. You are not a Pygmy Lord, and you are not a bishop. I see other Chosen Undead in other worlds. They are stronger and smarter and bolder and kinder. Yet none of them are _here_ , in this moment."

She steepled her hands on the table. Given her size, they were nearly as large as an actual steeple, if a small one.

"Hurry back. You must save Izalith. My Revered Mother is more terrible than you imagine. The Duke's hatred is professional. If you still sought to defend her, he did not give ample weight to her sickness."

The goddess raised a candle, nearly exhausted.

"I will not judge you if you take her side. Judgment is her realm. Do not do so out of a feeling of debt. You owe her nothing."

The goddess had grown long and grim. When she blew out the candle and cast Lex from the dream, it was if she were sighing her last breath.


	35. Holding out for a Hero

Just as the Duke had said, Lex found himself surrounded by the marble walls of Anor Londo. He was in some small, dark room. A dim bonfire hummed before him, and the evening sunlight cascaded from a long staircase. Or rather, he felt warm sunlight on his skin and saw it with his right eye. He saw pale moonlight with his holy eye. He blinked several times. He couldn't turn it off.

"Well, that's lovely. I think I'm getting a headache already."

There was a ring of marbled tiles surrounding the bonfire. They alternated between white and a whorled blue-green in a sort of sunburst pattern. Columns with floral decor lined the walls, so naturally Lex was immediately suspicious. The room looked like a lobby, but it didn't go anywhere. Sure enough, his left eye saw the shadow of a passage which had been bricked off.

A woman leaned against the wall. Lex looked at her and vomited.

"Not on my marble!"

In a flash, she was at Lex's side, leaning him back. He swallowed the trail of vomit and gagged. He hadn't even eaten anything since the last time he threw up. What was that splattered all over the floor?

"My guests do not ordinarily appear without having greeting me first. The Duke has shown you something terrible, then?"

Her tone was apologetic but stern. With the strong Carimin accent, she sounded like the nurses to nobility Lex had seen in his travels.

"Well, you're not wrong," the prophet coughed. "But I was more surprised at how relaxed you are, considering…"

"Oh? You can see it? You _are_ a rare one."

Her armor was gorgeous, all in holy brass with silver filigree. Shining belts, chains, and medallions of enough silver to buy a noble title danced around her. The armor swept about in refined, organic shapes, and the pauldrons resembled wings. A long, crescent crest jutted from the back of the helm like a long ponytail.

Like the sun of Anor Londo, it was a beautiful lie.

Beneath the armor, the woman barely fit. Her rotting skin festered and greased itself as her body contorted to fit in a suit of armor forged for a human-shaped wearer. Her limbs and extremities were all too long. Just beneath the skin gurgled a toxic, stagnant pool of humanity. Horrid insects writhed and burrowed and bred within the mire, producing ever-more filth and pestilence. The woman's head had swollen to being totally unrecognizable. Countless eyes stared blindly at the inside of the helm, blinking absently.

"It is merely part of my duty. I am thankful to my master for providing such fine armor to conceal my wretched state."

"Because that's all gods are good for, apparently," Lex mumbled.

"Do not speak ill of the gods, for your own good," the woman reprimanded like a noble nanny again. "The gods bear greater burdens. I would not mind this illness at all, if not for affectation of my ears. 'Plip plop,' like clockwork."

"This isn't right," Lex said, shaking his head.

He stood and let the knightess step back. The prophet held onto his gut as he looked at her carefully.

"Please, before I clean the floor, let me try to heal you."

"My master has spent more effort than I deserve on healing-"

"Your master isn't a Deacon of the Deep! I've served my time in the Cleansing Chapel. I've had the holy Deepwater sprinkled upon my brow. My expertise in sealing and cleansing is greater than most priests."

The knighess sighed.

"So be it. If it will alleviate your worries, I will allow you to try."

She extended her hand, expecting a more traditional cure. Lex shook his head.

"Nope. Just stand there and brace yourself."

He unslung his wand, and an expression crossed her face. He honestly couldn't tell what sort, so mangled her face had become.

"I have heard of the Cathedral of the Deep. I have not heard that they inherited the sorcerous techniques of New Londo's Sealers."

"Well, I read one scroll. I don't think that counts."

"A cleric should not use a wand," the knightess warned as her hands drifted toward her swordbelt.

"Then I'll request absolution from the Pardoner."

A tense moment passed, but the knightess didn't move. Lex sighed and continued. He conjured his invisible wrasse, and the woman smirked (he thought).

"As you see, no magic can cure such affliction as-"

The Dark sprites in the shape of fish fell upon her in a feeding frenzy. They chewed away at her misshapen flesh and brimming humanity. Each swelled to thrice its size before bursting, and Lex quickly summoned more and more. At last, he reached the bottom of his energy, growing faintheaded as the last fish finished their meal.

"Wh-what were those humanity monsters? Hexer!"

She drew her blade in a flash of silver and held its narrow point beneath Lex's chin.

"Wrasse."

"Wrath is right-"

"Wrasse. It's a breed of fish. And I already used that pun when I developed the spell."

"Developed? Do you realize what you've done?"

"Do _you_ realize how many eyes you have now?"

The knightess froze before gasping, "Impossible."

"Maybe for the Noldor," Lex taunted.

He wasn't really sure what the word meant but he assumed it was what the gods called themselves. The knightess glared at him. He could actually make out her expression now. Her skin was still pink and new, but it was proper human skin. Or the skin of the false, godly form at least. She was a fairly attractive middle-aged Carimin woman with green eyes and auburn hair which filled the helmet. He saw cold judgment in her face.

Then he saw Caffrey's face.

"Did she really just skewer me through the chin? For healing her?"

"Lexion?"

Even her eye of blue-silver was red from weeping.

"Lexion, so soon? You weren't supposed to see- What happened? Who has slain you so swiftly?"

"Princ-"

The word was only half out of his mouth, and she was already wincing from it.

"Godde-"

That was no good either.

"Caffrey."

He's said some heresy before, but calling a deity by a nickname to their face was fairly flagrant.

"Caffrey, what's wrong? I mean, you're right; I just left. But were you holding this back?"

"I must," she sniffled. "I do not know where it is coming from. I have no good reason, but I am terribly afraid."

"Is it something about Duke Seath."

"No! I-I don't know!"

Tears were not unfamiliar to clerics. Sickness, age, storm, war, famine, winter, snakes, rats – all the things which plagued Man could unsettle the spirit even more than the body. Comfort the dying, comfort the sick, comfort their families. Even a cloistered cleric like himself could not escape it. If anything, the Cathedral of the Deep saw only the worst of certain ills.

"It's okay. It doesn't matter what it is. Just cry. It's like a confession. I won't tell anyone."

The goddess gave up a mournful wail and leaned away from the table. Lex saw the burning titan "Adar" at the doorway, but the monster didn't enter. Its behavior was strange. Lex saw its every muscle tense. It wanted to enter but restrained itself. Its empty eyes glimmered as tears of molten iron poured down. Lex looked back.

"Godd- Caffrey. Is there anything you need? Do you want me to ask your mother to come?"

The wail became a scream.

"She knew! She planned it! She must have!"

The monster's knuckles cracked like explosions, and it glowered at Lex. Yet something held its tongue this time.

" _Hanar! Hanar raitho nin!_ "

Lex's mind ticked back. ' _…Hanar should be Allfather_ ,' ' _…clever like Hanar…,_ ' she had said. What was it that bald Lord had replied? ' _That man… hath been exiled, his name erased._ ' The exiled Firstborn of Gwyn, clever like a witch. Like his mother. In spite of how much she'd aged, the goddess was crying for her big brother.

"Caffrey! I don't know where your brother has gone! No one does! But there's a Warrior of Sunlight sworn to him in Anor Londo! I will bring him here somehow! If you're afraid, then he has the courage of ten men!"

"No!" she moaned. "Just go back!"

Before Lex could do anything, she'd swept him away with the candle smoke. He'd hardly recovered his senses before he found himself thrown to the ground. The estoc was pointed at his throat again, and the knightess' brass boot crushed his ribs.

"You see your mistake in showing yourself here, agent of Dark."

"Wait, what? Did you just kill me over some misunderstanding?"

"There is no misunderstanding, heretic. I do not need a crow's eye to recognize your master's works."

"Ah, so then you killed me over politics. That's fair, I guess. But I'll have you know I'm on an errand for the Duke right now. My Lady wants to destroy Izalith, and I disagree. The Duke has sent me to request aid from the secret King of Anor Londo."

The woman stared at him. After a moment, she sheathed her sword. She didn't help him up but returned to her original position. She leaned against the wall with arms cross.

"Go. If you speak the truth, there is nothing I may do to help you. If you lie, then you will find only the justice of the Darkmoon."

Lex glanced to the moonlight streaming in from above. He sat up and ran his hand through the lock of his mistress' hair.

"What? You're not going to tell your master directly? I never thought the gods would stingier with their time than _dragons_."

It was a risky move, since he couldn't even run away, but death didn't especially matter anymore.

"What juvenile bait. Leave. And keep yourself alive. I don't want to see you here again."

Lex shrugged and rose. He carefully walked around the patch of vomit and climbed the stairs into the cool night air. He found himself again in the grand courtyard. All paths to Anor Londo led here, side passages descending into the mountain wall and guardhouses blocking the paths to Sen's Fortress and the Duke's Archives. The courtyard jutted over the city of the gods, centering on a single spire.

Open panels faced every side, letting one who stood in its center look out and see the whole of the lost capital. The center was white porcelain which shone even brighter than the surrounding tiles. The porcelain was surrounded by more of the blue-green marble. This time, the sunburst pattern was more explicit, an eight-pointed star in two rows.

Lex instinctively stepped around it, walking to the edge of the platform instead. He closed his holy eye and looked out on the sunlit skyline. The lost city of the gods stretched as far as he could see. Every building was a cathedral, a grand temple to honor some god, for that god dwelled within.

It wasn't spiritual mumbo-jumbo. There was no mythographic explanation. There was no transubstantiation of the divine into a physical vessel. There was no holy presence. The gods had walked here, eaten here, shat here. Ironically, it was here, in the heartland of the holy, that there was absolutely no need for faith.

The burning sun of dusk shone behind and slightly to the right of the Great Lord's palace-basilica such that Gwyn's shadow loomed over half the city. It was ominous but not nearly so much as the truth.

Lex opened his left eye again and watched the city fall into blackest night. There were no torches, for there had been no need in the Sunlit Capital. There were no candles in any window. A cold and feeble moon failed to provide any light, and dark clouds hid the stars.

This city was a place of wonders, and yet the gods had abandoned it. Here, at the top of the world, had they seen the coming darkness years ago? Had they simply fled, abandoning their human worshipers and leaving prayers unanswered?

What was a miracle, anyway? The God of War had vanished long ago, yet his Warriors could still wield his lightning. No, what about his own mistress? If she was truly a dragon, how did she grant miracles at all? Was sorcery just an elaborate miracle of Seath's? What was pyromancy?

If nothing else, Lex was glad that his mistress had told him to ask questions. He was glad that he had been told to use souls to reinforce his mind rather than his spirit. Though perhaps he would need both in order to reach a true conclusion.

For once, he was actually, truly grateful to the gods. He wasn't just trying to game the system for a rewarding afterlife. He was far away from an answer to all of this, but he had been given the tools to find it. He wasn't just left alone in some dusty library and told to read scripture, to slavishly read about someone else's accomplishments. Besides, he'd already seen the afterlife.

Lex stepped back into the center of the green sunburst. The panel rumbled, and ancient metal groaned. He almost lost his balance as it began to sink. Walls with – surprise, surprise, still more floral motifs – rose around him. At last, the metal shrieked, and the platform came to a surprisingly gentle stop. Lex stepped off, and a moment later, it began to rise again on a massive corkscrew.

The cleric merely sighed at being trapped at the bottom of some vertical passage yet again. At least it wasn't a sewer or poison swamp this time. A spiral stair wrapped around the elevator mechanism. Lex descended the stairs and continued to the wide, straight staircase ahead. It led down from a wide-open archway and to the main road of Anor Londo, suspended far above the cathedrals so that all could watch as guests arrived and the knights of Gwyn departed.

Even without deliberately using his power, Lex could hear echoes of crowds cheering. As he focused, he saw his predecessors marching down in force. Tarkus and Kirk, the Berenike Knights, and a handful of Balder Knights who had stayed true to the cause and not their traitorous king. Some of these men had heard the cheers before. Now, they heard nothing. Not even a protest at their intrusion.

Lex saw it just as he heard Kirk's voice, several hundred years ago: "gargoyles!"

Well, it was a grotesque; not a gargoyle. Regardless, there was only one remaining after so many years. It was a testament to the defense of the Undead Parish that so many were left. Lex continued down the stairs calmly. He was too lost in thought, and it hadn't registered that these guardians of Anor Londo had attacked Tarkus, a Champion of Berenike even greater than himself.

He even paused for a moment. A creature of living stone. It didn't get more obviously draconic than that.

A falling poleaxe nearly cut him in half. The splintered marble cut his face as it sprayed through the air.

"Oh," Lex said, dazed. "So they don't all belong to my Lady."

He dove under its arm and rolled down the stairs as it swung its weapon in a half-circle. The grotesque tried to bash Lex with its shield, but he hit the bottom of the stairs and bounced to his feet. He looked around quickly, one eye in the past and one in the present. Even if he was strong enough to defeat the grotesque now, it would take a lot of his power, and he would rather not return to the bonfire while that knightess was there.

A great bridge was ahead, to ensure that only those invited could reach the Great Lord's keep. It was no mere raised door but a towering mechanism, a spire which turned to align with the balconies of various buildings nearby. As the case happened to be, it was not aligned with the main road. There was a chance the mechanism didn't even work anymore.

The prophet heard Kirk's voice in the past again: "The buttresses!"

The grotesque whipped its axe-bladed tail at him, but he was already gone. As bad as it sounded, he trusted the knight of Chaos. Lex didn't know why Kirk had been part of Velka's expedition to Anor Londo, but the Thorn Knight was a Servant through and through. As long as his goals aligned with the others', he could be trusted to the same extent.

Lex ran straight off the side of the road. He twisted his ankle badly and nearly fell to the streets below as he landed on a lower level, but his momentum kept him going. The sweeping buttresses which held up a nearby cathedral leaned on the road for support. Halfway up the side, the cleric spat out a quick healing spell as the grotesque gave chase.

Ancient, worn-out roof tiles slipped from under his feet and clattered silently to streets a lifetime below. Lex wasn't exactly fast, and he couldn't run at full speed across the aged buttress. Even though the grotesque's wings were too tattered to fly, they helped stabilize it as its stone claws tore through the rooftop.

"Still waiting on those wings, o Goddess!"

Lex flapped his arms pathetically, as if pushing the air would increase his speed. The buttress' support struts rose above it on either side to form an elaborate, decorative cap. Fortunately, there were gaps in between them. Lex jumped between the first gap just as the grotesque reached him.

Like the drake and the bridge to the Undead Parish, the grotesque blindly chased after him, crashing into the struts and trapping its head. The thing gnashed its teeth at him blindly as he panted and hurried further up the buttress.

Unfortunately, the grotesque was not a mere beast like the drake. It snarled and pulled its head free before climbing onto the strut's cap and using the added height to make a soaring leap. Its poleaxe crashed in front of Lex, blocking the gap between the next set of struts.

The cleric barely slid to a stop before impaling himself on the back of the axe. The grotesque snarled again and left its weapon in place, sure that the feeble human couldn't move it. It still had its vicious claws and ridiculous battle-axe tail. It inhaled, and static crackled around its canid lips.

"You're kidding. What _doesn't_ have lightning breath?"

Lex unleashed the shockwave of a Force miracle just as the grotesque exhaled. It deflected some of the thinner bolts, but the majority of the lightning struck him directly. The heavy, magical silk of Seath's channelers resisted the energy better than even well-made armor, but lightning was lightning. Lex could barely feel the wand in his hand.

"Okay," he sighed. "A suicide attack is a suicide attack. I don't _think_ these regenerate, but I don't know either. I don't want to have to do this a second time, so let's get across now. Nothing to it but the old undead endurance, huh?"

The cleric cleared his mind and tried to remember exactly how it went.

"All things must one day rest…"

The grotesque's tail axe cut halfway through his body, but the green barrier of the spell shattered, and his body snapped back to normal in an explosion of golden motes. He cast the spell again.

"This is far more than proof against 'sudden death,'" he said, laughing madly.

Before the grotesque could react to his sudden change in mood, he began climbing over its axe. Stone claws tore into his back, trying to stop him, but he just pulled away. The robes tore, and the protective amulets fell to the roof below, but Lex squeezed over the axe and through the struts.

The grotesque snarled and tore its weapon free of the buttress. Lex was already halfway to the last set. It tried the same trick again, but the deacon was ready for it. He dove forward and let the axe split his back open. He screamed loud enough to wake stone, but the miracle restored his flesh again, throwing the axe backward as if it had bounced off steel.

Before the creature could understand what had happened, Lex ran through the last pair of struts and jumped to the rooftop below. He saw the shadow of Tarkus there. The Champion swung his mighty blade like a hammer and shattered one of the cathedral's upper windows. Even now, that window lay in pieces.

Lex hurried through without pausing to look. He cast the miracle again as he stepped inside and took a quick glance around. He saw the reliefs of wheat and bread again. He saw three- and four-pointed flower signs in the upper windows and six-pointed ones in the lower windows.

He was on an upper deck of sorts, though for viewing or for maintenance, he couldn't tell. There was an elaborate railing to keep him from falling, but there wasn't much else in the way of luxury. He spied a figure on the other side and began walking around.

Before he realized it, he was on the ground, and the miracle was reattaching his head to his shoulders. Something leapt off his back with a swooping sound. The cleric scrambled away and into a crouching position.

A figure in white robes flipped upright and twirled a pair of short, curved swords through the air, flinging his blood to either side without staining the robes. The figure stood with a peculiar balance, heels together. Pointed silver greaves stood out from beneath the long, asymmetrical skirt. The attacker's swords hung at either side. They were long knives with flat-tipped blades that curved inward.

The skirt, collar, and hood all had peculiar signs on them. The hood itself was perhaps the most peculiar part of the costume. A white cloth covered the entire head. It trailed to a long braid in back and was kept in place by a heavy silver visor which ensured the wearer couldn't see.

Yet if that wasn't strange enough, Lex recognized it.

"That! That's what I wear! What is that?"

He was answered by a knife. The first figure in white he'd seen had noticed him. This one swung its blades from across the deck, and phantasmal copies hurtled through the air. Lex dodged, but the one nearer him attacked. It stepped forward and spun. It completed a full revolution so gracefully that there was only a moment where its head was facing away from him. Lex ducked back but found himself against the rail.

"I just want to talk!"

Still, he raised his wand defensively. He held the chant for Velka's destructive shockwave on the tip of his tongue. The figure in white paused. Then it ducked and spun toward him. As he began to cast, a spectral knife in his back broke his concentration. A spring-kick from the warrior in front cast him over the railing.

"I don't suppose this is only as high up as the Undead Parish gallery?"

Lex began screaming a moment later as the air began to rush around him. Somehow, he managed to regain something resembling calm and cast Caffrey's miracle again. Several seconds later, he hit another white-robed figure and then the floor. His bones broke, but then the miracle barrier did. In spite of all odds, he bounced to his feet mostly intact.

"Yes! Goddess, thank you! Finally a miracle that actually feels miraculous! Someone tell Flann to add that to the Lindelt Gospel! Gravelord's boner!"

At last, he realized that he was now in the middle of a room filled with the white-robed figures. And he had just killed one with his fall.

"Oh. Hello."

A Force fended off the first wave of spectral blades. Another quick shot even pushed back the first three who tried attacking directly. Yet they merely flipped back to their feet instead of being knocked over, and more phantom knives flew past just as the energy bubble burst.

As it turned out, they were created with soul energy, and so the channeler's robe deflected most of them. At least from the front. The blades to his back seemed to strike directly where the grotesque had torn the robe.

Now that the figures had observed their opponent, they didn't give him an opportunity to fight back. They attacked in waves. Some would bait out a Force, and others would take the moment to strike. The individual strikes were glancing blows, as the figures always danced away before Lex could retaliate. After some thirty seconds, the injuries had begun to add up. Any time Lex tried to heal or cast Caffrey's blessing, the warriors would disrupt him with a barrage of ghostly knives, damage or none.

There had to be some way out of it. Lex looked around for the past specters of the attacking knights. He didn't even need a holy eye to see Tarkus' blood-rusted armor lying in one corner of the room.

"Impossible! Tarkus was the Champion of the Goddess of Dominion! With her blessings, he should have easily-!"

Before he realized it, he was on his hands and knees. He'd lost too much blood. He turned his head to see Tarkus' last stand.

"Go! Alcaeus, into the Painting! I'll guard your exit! Bluford! Take Eusibeus and Ásketill! Kill your way through! Slay the Twin-Tongued God and his serpent-servants!"

The broken corpses of Berenike Knights littered the floor, having dropped from the rafters above. One Berenike Knight magically passed into some sort of large painting on the eastern wall. Kirk led the one remaining Berenike and Balder knight in a bloody swathe through the crowd of warriors in white.

Tarkus stood alone before the painting and killed. And killed. And killed. And killed. And killed. And killed. And killed. He killed them all.

He'd been backed into the corner, and his tower shield was chipped and cut. Blood dripped out of every soft part of his armor. Leather and chain fell away from the plate joints in sticky, red clumps.

"I… I think I'll rest my eyes, Your Majesty. Wake me when the others return, won't you…"

The hero fell to one knee in final genuflection, then died upright.

"Tarkus wasn't undead?" Lex gasped as he joined his goddess' champion in death.


	36. Get Lucky

Lex felt the tile on his face, but it quickly became wood.

"Lexion? Again? Please, be careful."

The cleric got up slowly. He examined his robes. The same. He looked at the doll Caffrey had taken the robes from. It wore the same hood.

"Go- Caffrey, are you…?"

He turned to look at her. Her eyes were still a little red, but she was calmer now. The burning titan 'Adar' had returned to its outside vigil, and she sat alone in the quiet. She was on her bed, huddled under her blankets. Whatever object she had been hiding was in front of her, and she was leaning on it.

"I'm sorry, Lexion. Just give me a moment. I will send you back."

"Don't push yourself. I'm not exactly enthused to go back to that bonfire."

Lex looked down at the robes he wore. The pattern at the bottom of the skirt was so elaborate that he couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was probably a rune, but without his holy eye, he couldn't _see_ it. Trailing from the collar was a much simpler insignia. Six branches spread from a stem, an ancient sign for the heavens which generally represented the will of the gods. It was distinct from the eight-pointed sun icons of Gwyn and rarely used.

The cleric rose and walked to the naked wooden doll. He took its hood and stared at it. There was some sort of blossom or leaf on the forehead. Over the mouth was the Imperial Seal of Thorolund – or Catarina now – an eagle plucking a six-petaled blossom. The silver visor had what seemed to be a simplified version of Velka's leaf insignia. Who did these warriors serve?

He sighed.

"What is all of this?"

"I'm sorry. What do you mean?" the goddess said, peeking out from under her blankets.

"All of it. Everything. Why is a daughter of Gwyn trapped here when the Way of White fractured because of controversial leadership? Why are the gods squabbling over politics when the world is literally ending? Why were so many so-called Chosen Undead sent to die without any sort of blessing, when some random deacon gets a holy eye that may or may not be stolen?"

The goddess frowned, but Lex continued.

"I hated it, you know? The future I would have as a merchant. Always lying _just enough_ to make the sale. Buy low; sell high. Famines are good for business. So I tried to leave it behind. But the Church has its own games, and the gods do too, it seems."

Lex balled up the headcloth and threw it to the table.

"The afterlife is a lie! Humans are actual monsters! The queen of the gods is a dragon! What's the point in even saving the world?"

"A dragon?" Caffrey echoed quietly. "Ah."

There was a silent moment where they only heard the rain outside.

"It is for weak, is it not?" Caffrey said at last. "We have a duty as… people, human or god. We have to give them a chance to be happy, even if it takes much from us. I know what it is like to have a future picked out for you. I was… given away. A peace offering, political hostage, and so on."

The goddess pulled back her blankets, and there was a tiara of silver filigree wrapped around her raven hair. At its center was an egg-like gemstone which glinted fiery red, sunlit gold, or verdant green as the candlelight flickered.

"I've remembered almost all of it now. All that remains is how I got here."

Lex winced, but Caffrey shook her head.

"Do not worry. I am quite aware as to why I am asleep. I would not endanger countless lives by vainly trying to awaken. That is but part of the burden of the Princess of the Mortal Lands, your Filianore."

The cleric sighed and sat down.

"If only the rest of the gods shared your sense of responsibility."

"I am sure many do. Only, they are lost. They became too used to Father's glory. Without him, I am sure they faced despair."

"So did all of the Chosen Undead before me. They died again and again, trying to save the world that the gods allegedly guide. Tarkus… Tarkus was the Queen's Champion, you know? He was human, alive! He fought his way to Anor Londo as a human! And he got cut down by these stupid white-robed ganks! And my Lady did nothing!"

Lex kicked the fallen headcover for emphasis. Caffrey pursed her lips.

"The Princess Guard. They are special forces, generations of humans trained to the utmost for the sole purpose of protecting the daughters of Gwyn. They obey only our orders. My Revered Mother could not have turned them away."

"That's not it. Tarkus was a human. She could have done _anything_. None of the mindgame shit; just _helped_! And now she's sent me? Like I'm half the man Tarkus was? He's a national hero in Carim! We never even heard how he died! He just disappears in legend!"

"I see," Filianore said, and her blue-silver eye shone.

Lex clicked his tongue.

"I'm just bitching, aren't I? It's hard to beat a political hostage in a pity party."

He sighed.

"I guess what I'm trying say is… is that job offer still available?"

"Job? What do you…? You wish to…? To tell me of the outside world?"

"To serve you above all other gods – Caffrey, Goddess of Luck."

"Really? You would do that? I cannot provide the assistance you need while I am trapped here!"

"Honestly, you've already done a lot just by being there. Anor Londo is empty and dark. Duke Seath said there was a king, but"His Majesty" clearly isn't enthusiastic about guests."

"Even Anor Londo… I see."

"When you take away the glamor of godhood, it really _is_ just politics as usual. So, before I flee Lordran and use my powers of prophecy to become a wildly successful gambler, I thought I might try working for the only god who's given me a straight answer to my questions."

Caffrey smiled sadly.

"It pains me to hear that my people have strayed from Father's path. You are very kind to keep faith in a frail patron such as myself. There can be only one way to respond to such faith."

Caffrey covered her face with her blankets. Before Lex could say anything, she rose all at once. The covers flew back, and she rose to her full height.

"I am _Lían Merilîg Ariamîdh Gwâniel, Firyanor Araniel, Hebre Arianar!_ "

With each part of her name, power formed around her again and again, and every candle in the room grew brighter. Golden motes of energy flowed through the air like countless fireflies. The various plants in her small garden grew and spilled over the soil box. Rings of light appeared on the backs of her hands, and a halo formed about her black hair as she stretched and grew to adulthood. This was what Lex had expected of a deity all along. He had to hold himself back from falling into prayer.

"I am Gwynllian Rose Talia, Princess Filianore, Keeper of the First Flame! Or Caffrey for short!"

She laughed, and it sounded like the chime of a miracle. Her blue-silver and red-gold eyes shone with inner light. With both arms, she held tightly to a great white stone which was perfectly round and stained with the image of a skull.

"Let it be a covenant between god and Man, that you should serve my interests in the world of Light, and that I should grant whatsoever aid is needed in these duties! Thus do I swear before Sky, Sea, and Soil!"

Lex could barely rise beneath the sheer pressure of a revealed deity's presence. The amount of souls that burned within Caffrey was more than he knew could exist in the whole of the world. Yet there were still more! The petrified egg in her arms burbled and churned with the Dark Soul in equal amount. With all the effort he could bear, the cleric rose to his feet.

"Thus do I swear!"

Caffrey floated to him and extended her little finger. His whole hand could barely grasp the nail, but he shook it. Fire flowed into him, and his bones crackled like they were in a bonfire. He saw in his mind a new sign. It was like a sun or a blossom. He smelled freshly-tilled earth and heard the rustle of leaves. One of the blossom's petals blinked, for it was a burning wheel of eyes.

He couldn't tell what happened next on account of the body-shredding agony, but when his eyes regained focus, he was no longer on the table. He was standing on the floor. He was shaking hands with the goddess. She was still more than twice his size, but he was a pygmy, after all.

He looked at his hand. It was actually his hand. He wasn't hollow anymore. He felt his face, and everything was there. Even his missing eyeball was back, though he still didn't have his holy vision. He looked down and found himself in a verdant green tunic, slacks, and tall brown boots. The goddess released his hand and touched his brow.

"I testify that you are worthy, Deacon Lexion. I have seen with sight beyond sight. You have walked the Way of White with faith and fortitude. Now, I call upon you to serve as a Father to the Children of the Abyss, as a minister of Our Father Gwyn's will. Do you swear to guide Man and enlighten the teeming masses of Humanity?"

"I do."

"Then I invest you with the offices of the holy priesthood. Umbasa."

The golden motes swirled around Lex. A chasuble and stole, the gown and wrap of a priest, fell about him. They were just as the ones he would have received at the Cathedral of the Deep, only emerald green instead of charred red. Yet the pressure of the goddess' presence had not died down in the slightest.

"Father of Men, you have been Chosen. You are to be the servant of your people, to tend not one family but all Men. You are to be as a beacon, a Monument of Flame. You are to enter Dark places and Dark hearts in order to shine the light of Father Gwyn. You are to be an overseer and mentor of the Church, a holy bishop. Do you swear to be ever White of soul and tendency and to share friendship with all?"

"I do."

"Then I appoint you Bishop of Courland! Vallad umbasa!"

The golden motes whirled, and the garb of the priest vanished. He wore an emerald surcoat and mantle, with gloves that matched his boots. A bishop's tall, folded hat – a mitre – was on his head. If the Pardoner's uniform was meant for skulking in the shadows, then this one would make Lex invisible in a forest.

There was a breastplate of silver, and the mantle was covered in white drakescale. On one hand, he found an unsettlingly familiar diamond-shaped brass ring. On the other was a thin band with four glimmering yellow-green stones set into its face. As he stared, a crozier fell into his open hands. The greatstaff was coiled iron like the bonfire sword, and green vines of corroded brass formed a coiling fleur-de-lis about the top.

"It is done," Caffrey said, exhausted. "You will not suffer for your faith again. Not unwillingly. If my people have abandoned yours, then any proclamation of a cleric is based in tradition and legalism rather than truth. You must bear the burden of speaking in my place, but none may doubt you."

While the goddess trembled from exhaustion, the cleric trembled from a mixture of excitement and fear.

"A bishop, my lady? Are you sure?"

"The Queen-Dowager's bishop, the Pardoner, is present in Lordran. I would not have you his inferior. Nor would I have you be accosted by that rude, armored Fire Keeper."

Her blue-silver eye flashed again.

"I see her. Her name is Alcmene. Chastise her in my own name, for my Keepers are meant to serve all those who suffer and are lost, even the wicked."

She paused and blinked several times, in a daze.

"My lady, are alright?"

"Yes, I… There is still a nameless dread in me. Yet I am stronger now, and I have a faithful bishop. Return to Anor Londo and seek to fulfill your bargain with the Duke. Even should the deity dwelling there refuse your – and my – summons, I can feel the presence of another. A servant of mine yet still dwells there, ever true. Never forget that my name shall be your greatest weapon. Now, off with you. You have much to do."

The goddess again lifted a candle and blew the smoke over Lex. As always, it cleared to reveal the bonfire. He looked at himself and sighed. His bishop's garb was all gone, merely part of the dream. He still wore the channeler's robes, though the damage had been restored by the bonfire. Caffrey was powerful, but Luck could hardly create equipment from nothing. Or could it?

In spite of the common sense that one could only wear two magic rings, he found the pair of ecclesiastical rings still on his fingers. Perhaps more concerningly, his body was-

"Impossible! You-!"

Suddenly but not unexpectedly, he found a sword to his throat.

"You were hollow," the knightess said as if it weren't an ordinary occurrence. "How is it that dying _restored your flesh_?"

Lex smirked. Indeed, his flesh, his hair, his eye color – all the cosmetic details – had been restored. Only, he was definitely still hollow. He felt weak and tired, and there was a certain listlessness seeping into his thoughts now that he'd left the wonders of the false afterlife.

"Another hex, no doubt! Get out of my sight, heretic!"

The grin on Lex's face grew disgustingly wide.

"Now, is that any way to speak to your ordinary, Alcmene?"

"You hold no power over me, servant of the Raven Witch. Using your foul vision to reveal that abandoned name does not frighten me."

"Maybe not, but this one should. Gwynllian Rose Talia reminds you of your duty as a Fire Keeper."

The woman recoiled as if bitten.

"You meddle with forces a human cannot comprehend!"

"Maybe you didn't try."

Lex walked up the stairs without looking to see how the knightess would react. If she killed him again, what did it mean beyond another return to his new lady's side? Was there even a penalty to death now, or was it merely a setback? He mulled it over as he crossed the courtyard, descended the elevator, and made his way down the main road.

The grotesque leapt down from the raised bridge and headed directly toward him. He was a bishop in name now, but he lacked the miracles to back it up. He might be able to outrun the creature again, but there was no guarantee it was stupid enough to let him get away using the same tricks. He still had the powerful Second Chance miracle, but relying on it to keep him alive for the entire distance would drain most of his energy.

"Luck be my Lady!"

Lex grabbed at the train of brass medals on his robe, pulling them overhead. He spun the bundle on their leather belts as the creature charged. Once it was near enough, the grotesque bucked and lunged into the air. Like a greatcat, it pounced at the helpless cleric.

The bishop dove under the falling halberd. As the grotesque gnashed its stone teeth, he spun the medals into its mouth and ran past it. The sudden jerk spun the heavy creature under its own momentum. As its gangly body and long tail whipped around its head, the force pulled Lex into the air.

It took all his strength to hold on to the belt, and his arm nearly dislocated regardless. Still, with all the agility he could manage, he flopped onto the grotesque's neck.

"This is exactly like riding a draft horse, right?"

It screeched and shook its head wildly. The long leaf patterns on its knightly helm swatted Lex repeatedly, but being struck back and forth kept him roughly centered.

"Ow! Ow! Okay, this isn't working!"

The grotesque struck its weapon into the road and reached back for him. He deflected its claws with a wave of Force.

"No! Bad dragonkin!"

It snarled, so he pulled on the medals still stuck in its mouth. Its head reared back with his grasp, and it hissed. Before the cleric could do anything else, his impromptu mount fell to all fours and began racing down the road.

"Hyaa!" Lex yelled, lashing the medal bands like reins.

The grotesque leapt into the air, flapping its feathered drake wings to aid its heavy body. It landed on the edge of the raised bridge with a tremendous boom and bucked forward. Lex was flung overhead and into the middle of the wide-open rotunda.

He landed on a wheel of sorts which stood on an axle in the center. Striking the heavy brass knocked the wind out of him, just as he rolled off and onto the marble floor. He rose slowly, wheezing. A second grotesque leered at him through a helm's visor.

"What does luck even mean?" the cleric sighed.

He dragged himself to his feet. He stood on a central platform split from the open balcony area by a circular staircase leading down. It seemed to have been sized for gods to pass each other while going up or down and so was more than wide enough for the grotesques to chase him if they held their wings tight.

Yet, a pygmy would be able to slip over the edge of the stairs and drop down, one rotation at a time. If he was lucky – and he was – then the grotesques wouldn't be able to catch him even running as fast as they could. The stairs were wound too tightly for them to reach anything resembling their full speed.

As he mentally applauded himself for the idea, the second creature swung its poleaxe, heedless of the brass disc. Lex dodged backward and slammed into it, flipping on top of it again. He slid his legs around and hopped off on the bonfire side, where the stairwell began. The first grotesque likewise swung its weapon, and he tried dodging to the side this time.

His ribs only bruised as he smashed them into a long lever which extended from the disc's side. The wheel's axle creaked as the force unjammed it, and it began to rotate back under Lex's weight. He slid along the side of the lever as it turned out from under him, then slipped off the platform. His desperate attempts at avoiding a fall pulled on the lever still more, and it spun around a half-turn under his swinging.

There was the sound of a tremendous latch unlocking, and the entire rotunda groaned as it began to rotate. It spun downward in the direction of the stairs, so Lex was able to let go of the lever and find the floor rising up to meet him.

He hurried down as the grotesques gave chase, but just as expected, they couldn't catch him. They snarled and peered downward through the stairwell but returned to guard their posts. Lex glanced upward. He took one quiet step, then stopped.

"Oh, right. The Duke said down. The Silver Knight memorial, right?"

He continued downward instead, following the winding stair until he was dizzy. Eventually, the stairs dumped him onto a small walkway that led beneath a tall, pointed arch. The way ahead led directly beneath the Great Lord's keep. The figure of Lord Gwyn stood before him, at the end of a long hallway.

Seeing a statue of the Lord of Sunlight after so long sobered Lex a little. He'd made the journey as fun as he could, considering his life was so frequently on the line. Yet he was still to some extent on a sacred pilgrimage. He had been a mere deacon, and now he was entering the great Cathedral-Keep of the Lord of Sunlight as a bishop.

He made the solar sign before entering. At the end of the hallway, he stepped down into a lower ring. A short central platform with floral reliefs held a bonfire. On the steps all around the room were grave slabs with epitaphs in the gods' language. Statuettes of Silver Knights lined the walls, nestled in alcoves.

Above the knights were a series of reliefs of two angels holding a wreath with a faded coat of arms. Above the angels were more statuettes, great scholars and statesmen of the gods. Still further above that was a window detailing three- and six-petaled flowers. Lex remembered seeing that six-pointed flower in the cathdral with the warriors in white.

"Well, Silver Knight statues and graves. I'm guessing this is the memorial."

After lighting the bonfire, he turned to the statue of Gwyn. The old Lord of Sunlight was depicted in fine detail, every wrinkle on his worried brow faithfully represented. His hair and beard grew together, frazzled by lightning. In spite of his position, he wore only a warrior's tunic and a cloak. His armor was limited to pauldrons, under which were heavy furs to ward against dragonfire and the cool Lordran nights.

He wore a tall crown of eight spines, which was said to resemble the sun when seen from above. There had been an old story about the crown, but the basic idea was that only the Lord of Sunlight could see this secret image, for no one would ever be above him. The statue leaned on a plain, if oversized greatsword.

The bulk of the statue was unpainted white marble. A number of details – the Lord's bracelets and anklets, his sash and medallions, his crown and his sword – were covered in gold leaf.

Only, it was all a lie. Now that he'd seen through it with his holy eye, Lex saw the obvious markings. The shadows lay wrong, and though the statue held the sword with both hands, it was a left-handed grip – opposite the countless knight statues.

The prophet walked through the image of the Great Lord to find another staircase. He descended to a hall with a long carpet, conspicuously lain out and uneven from having been walked on. It was an eye-searing pattern of royal and gold, leading to a peculiar, razor-edged sun icon. Or perhaps it was meant to be an eclipse, judging by its darkened face. A customarily ill omen, though so were crows. Four lit candles stood in a square about the sign. The archway ahead was blocked by a fog wall.

Lex stood on the emblem and bowed his head. He did not kneel.

"Halt!" an effete voice declared, a strange tone of unsurety in the command. "This is the tomb of the Great Lord Gwyn. Tarnished, it shall not be, by the feet of Men. If thou art a true disciple of the Dark Sun, cast aside thine ire, hear the voice of mineself, Gwyndolin, and kneel before me."

Lex blinked. There was a lot to process there. He wanted to make a smart reply, but he found himself unable to do so. Could he really be so rude to _Princess Gwyndolin_ , who had vanished from scripture centuries before? He clenched his fist. Of course he could. This princess was the "secret King of Anor Londo," after all.

"Dark Sun? I'm afraid you're mistaken. I am the Chosen Undead, hand-picked by your mother, Her Highness Beryf. I serve another god now, as I am in dispute with my former patron. The Duke sent me to ask aid of you. May we speak without the barrier of soul fog or fake archaic language?"

The voice on the other side of the fog became incensed.

"By whose authority dost thou speak to the Dark Sun-?"

"Give the language a rest, Your Highness. 'Mineself' isn't even a proper form."

"Thou speakest to-!"

"And 'thou' is informal speech. Some gods use it in scripture to indicate an intimate connection with the prophet being spoken to. I'm not _your_ prophet. My name is Bishop Lexion of Courland. I speak in the name of Gwynllian Rose Talia, Princess Filianore. Submit to legitimate royal authority, false Allfather, usurper antiking."


	37. Black in the Burn

"How absurd."

Lex could hear the sneer on the deity's face even though they were separated by fog.

"Were the Princess Filianore to awaken, this bountiful Age of Fire would immediately find its end." If nothing else, Princess Gwyndolin had given up on the archaic speech: "Be it Black Queen or White Duke who has put this fool notion into your head, abandon such dreams. What did they call her when they spoke to you? The Goddess of Humanity? Did the heresiarch Queen tell you a pretty story like 'the Age of Dark is the Age of Men'?"

"No. In fact, your mother doesn't care. It's a little frightening, frankly. But she did show me the truth."

"Truth is elusive. I hardly-"

"I've seen what I am, as a human. An envious, hungry monster. A locust."

The god was finally silent for a moment.

"I see. You have taken up the name of your race's benefactor and seek to-"

"No. I've spoken with her. I have sworn to her name. If Princess Gwynevere is nowhere to be found, then my lady Gwynllian is rightful Queen of Anor Londo. Even imprisoned; even when I denied her; she has tried to help me in this pilgrimage to save the Age of Fire. She has not hidden behind a fog wall or a fake sun!"

"F-fa-! Those are bold accusations from a-"

"Oh right! You're hiding behind decorum too! That monster of a Duke couldn't wait to speak with me in person! He waited in the center of his library, where he couldn't possibly be missed! And here's the so-called 'King of the Gods' and 'Allfather' hiding beneath the Lord's castle in a secret passage! You're literally hiding behind your father, Princess!"

Lex's voice quivered. This wasn't just joking disrespect or glibness or a minor heresy. He was shouting at a god now. He was shouting at _the_ god now.

He clenched his wand tightly and looked at the lock of Berenike's hair on the end. He had no relic Gwynllian to cast miracles with, and he quietly hoped his former lady's tools would not suddenly stop working. He shook his head and focused on the feeling of the holy rings on his fingers.

What was the purpose of "Allfather Lloyd"? Why had the gods lied to humanity and then left them? Why would the gods let the Fire die out, when it would mean their end as well? What was the purpose of the Undead Pilgrimage?

"I shall not endure such-!" Gwyndolin hissed.

"Because you can't, coward!" Lex snapped.

The tingling heat of the blood rushing through his body mingled with his suppressed memory of burning to death. He shivered.

"Coward, you call me?" the deity said, wrath slowly building. "Coward, you declare the lone and supreme god of Anor Londo? Coward, you name the Dark Sun which is by duty shadow of Lord Gwyn? You understand nothing, pretend bishop. Indeed, no bishop may be appointed without my say, last of the gods.

Rulership is a paradox, like the Dark Sun itself. Your frail race supped long on the might of Lord Gwyn and then the bounty of Queen Gwynevere. With your vile power suppressed by the Age of Fire, you should have become as we are. Instead, humans were content to rely on our power and yet think themselves the masters.

Coward, you say? My people grew weary and retired to the west. I alone have remained, and I have grown wise from my predecessors' mistakes. Your people desire a grand god above all, to save them from the burden of their decisions. Yet they cannot be truly given the blessings of a god, or else they shall invoke disaster with that power – as in Oolacile; as in New Londo.

Thus, Allfather Lloyd. I have created the effigy of an austere God of Caste and Order. The gods may be prayed to, but they will not be moved without the Allfather's consent. All things will be in their proper place, both mortal and divine. So too is Sister Gwynllian's place to slumber as the lynchpin of the Age of Fire. So too is mine own place in the shadows, to do what is necessary without tarnishing the image of the gods."

"Without tarnishing-!" Lex snorted. "That oppressive, _draconian_ thing the Way of White has become? The truth is only 'elusive' because you've hidden it! Look at the human settlements here in Lordran and then look beyond! Your misguided rulership and suppression of knowledge has only caused us to decline!"

"Would you prefer decline or the end of all things? The power of Anor Londo is exhausted! Should the Abyss break out again, it could scarcely be suppressed!"

Lex shuddered as he rememberd what he'd seen of the Abyssal Men. Yet he clenched his teeth and took a step forward.

"What of the other gods? What is in the west that would keep them safe from that? What of the Men who once served you? What of the Pygmy Lords?"

"It is not for you to know, play-bishop. Return to your pilgrimage if you truly wish to serve the gods."

"No. I'm serving the gods now."

Lex took one more step forward.

"Again, in the name of Gwynllian Rose Talia, rightful Queen of Anor Londo, reveal yourself!"

There was a rumble as the rotating bridge outside began to rise again. Lex's eyes narrowed. Was he being trapped here or were defenders of Anor Londo coming for him? Had another undead on pilgrimage reached the bridge and was merely passing through?

"I am not beholden even to true bishops. Speak Sister Gwynllian's name all you wish. Your words hold no power over the Dark Sun. You have blasphemed against the gods, and this is sin. Do not think the traitor queen can absolve you of this. Your judgment will be found in the twilight of Anor Londo."

"I'll say it a third time for the three Lords," Lex hissed. "Stand down."

The god was silent.

"Well, let's add to those sins, then."

Lex stepped past the rug and pressed through the soul fog. He found himself in a pointlessly long hallway with a pointlessly high arched ceiling. Tremendous columns bearing life-sized Silver Knight statues alternated with grand windows.

"Heretic!" the princess gasped. "You dare trespass on the tomb of the Great Lord?"

"You did first! You're not fit to rule, much less be worshiped!"

Something in him felt like it snapped. He'd said it. His body ran cold like water from the holy spring in midwinter.

"Mark the words of mineself, Gwyndolin!"

Lex exhaled slowly, letting it all sink in. He'd probably broken all of his original vows to the Church by now. He had abandoned his secular life to enter the Cathedral, and now he'd abandoned any hope of going back to the Way of White. He wanted to run away from it, but he felt the heat of the flames as they had licked his feet.

"Let the atonement for thy felonies commenceth!"

Those peculiar golden motes Lex had grown used to seeing shimmered about the end of the hall and flowed forward like a great stream, stretching the space beyond even his holy sight. This was no illusion – or if it was an illusion, then it was real. Lex thought back to Seath's secret form.

The god- No, the Noldo, stood a short distance away, if such a gait could be considered standing.

The princess was a monster.

She was dressed all in ivory silks and gold like a proper maiden. On her head was a great crown in the shape of that eerie eclipse symbol. The lowest ray of the sun would cross over her face and so was instead a pendant which hung about her neck like a long knife. Glittering golden tassles flowed about it, and cords of golden beads flowed about her shoulders.

There was a golden girdle about her middle. She wore long gloves and a mantle over her shoulders. A nearly invisible veil flowed from behind her crown like moonlight. Her silver hair was long but pulled back under her ears. She was pale in the manner of the gods but moreso, with a gray and sickly tint to her complexion.

Yet who wouldn't be sick if they snakes for legs?

The white-scaled reptiles swayed hypnotically, as if to entrance him. He felt the touch of the Duke somehow. His mind ran through what little the Church taught of dragon lore. A serpent was an imperfect dragon and symbol of gluttony. An imperfect white dragon, then.

Princess Gwyndolin raised her golden scepter to her breast. The staff resembled her crown, save that it lacked the pointed rays. The sound of bells rang out, and concentric golden discs of a miracle stretched about her. A golden light enveloped her, and she vanished. Lex's eye caught her trail immediately, as she reappeared much further down the hall.

"You're not exactly disproving that you're a coward!" Lex yelled.

A feeling of unease passed over him as cleric and god alike waved wands instead of holy talismans. Lex finished Second Chance with plenty of time to spare as the princess flourished her scepter, shining with sorcerous energy. He ran at an angle, prepared to duck behind one of the columns when the soul arrow came.

It wasn't an arrow. It wasn't even something like Logan's legendary Soul Spear. It was a churning orb of unrefined power larger than Lex's torso. It would run around any cover like a river.

Lex panicked and tried to stop, but his momentum was too much. He tripped and fell flat just as the soul orb roared overhead. He began casting again as he stood, and the thrumming force of a Magic Barrier wrapped around him.

The princess swung her wand quickly, unleashing a hail of soul arrows which slithered through the air like snakes. Lex roared as he charged directly into them, Grass Crest shield raised. Though ramming straight through the blasts sent spikes of pain through his body, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

Another wave came, and he dove under it. He tucked his shield under him as he fell and slid across the polished tiles. The old iron skidded to a stop just before the princess' "feet."

"There," she said as she looked down. "Bowing was not so hard, was it?"

Before Lex could retort, a snake bit into the back of his neck. He grunted and stumbled to rise. He couldn't focus clearly enough to summon his wrasse. He grabbed at the god's robes with one hand and his lash with the other. Gritting his teeth and bearing through the poison, he looked up into the deep shadows of the Dark Sun mask.

It blinked.

"Do you truly believe you are the first Chosen Undead to find this place? That you are so special? That you are the only one to possess the eye of a dragon?"

Princess Gwyndolin daintily removed one of her long, white gloves. The skin underneath was no less pale, and her nails glistened like pearls. She held Lex's face gently as he struggled under the venom. She brushed his cheek with her thumb. He felt a cold, stony sensation. It was as if a great predator was watching him intently, and he somehow knew that a power equal to his own was being used against him.

Gwyndolin was not the last of the gods, the secret King of Anor Londo, purely by blood. She looked deeply into him. Lex tried to fight back and look into the deity's own mind, but her thumb settled over his own holy eye. Before he could do anything, the glimmering pearl was splattered with blood and clear ichor.

"That was a…" Lex gasped, "…a gift."

"From the demon Quelaag. It seems those barbarous exiles were not content to rot in the poison of their own making."

The princess released Lex, and he fell over backward. He slapped the ground, trying to rise.

"You seek my aid for Izalith, was it? How very human to go on a grand quest to help another, only to ruin it with a pointless personal vendetta. I could look beyond your actions and beyond the treacherous past of Izalith if it meant the death of the rebel _Morion_. How dearly do I wish to bring her to atone. Yet, I cannot."

"You really are a coward," Lex grumbled.

The feeling was coming back, though he was still quite woozy. He forced himself to his feet.

"Were the threat of his mortal enemy to pass, who could stop the Duke?"

"Really? In Anor Londo, who could kill a dragon?"

"Your ignorance shows itself."

A sneer curled the princess' lip.

"Suffice it to say that I will not aid Izalith. I shall allow the Duke send his men. With luck, more of his channelers will die, and his vision will dim still further."

"Politics as usual. Some fucking god."

"Yes. In that respect, Carim was the mortal land which learned the most from us."

Complex emotions churned in Lex, somewhere between self-loathing and victory over Astora's centuries of playing the hero. The deity rubbed her scepter against her chin thoughtfully.

"The power of Thorolund is nearly broken. Perhaps I shall renew faith in Carim. Another schism, to return Man's attention to the gods and set them against each other, lest the Abyss reform in the wake of this Undead Curse."

"You think I'll just let you? I'm undead! The bonfire's just outside! I'll keep coming until I stop you!"

"Who are you, again?"

Lex blinked.

The goddess continued: "Lexion of Carim, Deacon of the Deep."

Her voice deepened as golden motes flowed around her.

"You serve the Way of White."

The voice became ancient and graven.

"You serve _me_."

Allfather Lloyd stood before the cleric in all his austere majesty. A cold and merciless white halo hung behind the ancient pontiff. The Sword of Law and the Shield of Caste were simple and rough-hewn equipment of ancient stone, worn with years of long use. Instead of chain, he wore a coat of stone scale beneath his stole and cape. An ashen beard and hair like smoke drifted above the floor.

Glowing white eyes burned into the one Lex still had. He swallowed.

"I am _Loitë Ilúvatar_ , called _Lithind_ in the lesser tongue."

"Don't think changing your shape is enough!"

"I do not. One amusement in warring with insects is that one learns to never underestimate his enemies."

Lex focused on his missing eye. He already knew from Quelaag stealing his original eye that merely destroying the physical object wouldn't break his power. He could still see through the god's illusion if he tried.

Only, he couldn't. Had the god done something to his eye or was this like the Duke's transformation?

"You have trespassed upon the Great Lord's tomb and have committed blasphemy against the Dark Sun. You have served the enemies of Anor Londo of your own will, and you have sought forbidden knowledge of holy miracles."

Lex seized up as he realized what was happening.

"No! You hold no power over me anymore! I quit! Twice!"

The specter of the ancient god seemed as if carved of stone. His jaw only barely moved as the pronouncement continued.

"By your deeds, you are already damned – a sinner of great blackness. By my authority and blessings as Allfather, God of Law and Caste – I brand you squalid, to be purified in fire."

Lex screamed and unleashed a purple shockwave, but the Allfather merely blocked it with his stone shield.

"Lastly – what was it that had been said? Ah, yes. 'You have broken your covenant with the gods and defiled this cathedral! The torch! Bring the torch, that this apostate might know the cleansing fire of the gods!'"

The entirety of the enormous hall was engulfed in Flame. Some part of Lex knew it was an illusion. Some part of Lex knew that his holy eye had been sealed to keep him from seeing through it. Some part of Lex knew that the Magic Barrier would protect him from simple fire long enough to flee. Those parts were drowned out by the screaming.

He struck at Lloyd once with his lash but quickly gave up and turnd to run. With an imperious wave of his hand, Lloyd unleashed the golden motes and extended the passage in the other direction.

Lex whimpered and turned back. The opposite end was still so far away, and there was no real way of getting past the god. He turned back and forth in panic as Lloyd extended his hand.

A flameless wave of heat throbbed across the room. That was it. It wasn't the fire that killed someone burned at the stake. They suffered blistering heat and choking fumes until they passed out from the pain or suffocation. Illusion or not, Lex felt his legs turn to ash under him. Then choking oblivion.

"Lexion? Are you alright? Lexion?"

As Quelaag had said: "Revival from Flame restores mind as much as body, so that it does not fray from the shock. No death means no restoration." The slow and exhausting death by bleeding or the abrupt death by a crushed skull was not a terribly great strain once an undead had come to terms with dying. Lex had been able to smooth over what frayed edges there were to his nerves without much issue. Each death found him in the peace of Caffrey's darkened chamber, where he could rest and take his mind off the circumstances of his pain.

Now, he had fallen there quite abruptly. What was there to take his mind off of dying by flame a second time? The wavering of the dim candlelight made him shiver, and he dared not think of the burning monster which guarded the tower. He whimpered quietly.

Caffrey had been seated on her bed. She sat cross-legged, with the skull-patterned egg in her lap. Her hands were crossed atop it, and she had been staring intently before she noticed the presence of the undead. Now, she rose and tucked the egg under her arm instead of hiding it beneath the sheets as she had done in the past. Instead of on top of the table, the normal-sized Lex had awoken in the chair before it.

"Lexion, what has befallen you?" Caffrey said as approached slowly. "If there is ought I can do, but say the word."

Lex only leaned forward in the chair and moaned, clutching his arms as if from cold. The goddess reached out to touch him but then remembered her own nameless fear. She folded her hand slowly and merely stood by him.

"Please, speak if you are able. _Muinthe_ \- My revered sister says that it helps with panic."

She took a humble-looking goblet of worn earthenware from the table and quickly went to the window. She held the cup out into the black rain and allowed it to fill. Yet when she withdrew her hand, the water was a clear mirror, and her white sleeve was dry and unstained.

"Here," she said gently. "Take a sip if you need to cool down."

Lex looked up for a moment. Abruptly, he grabbed the cup from her and poured it over his head as if to extinguish the flames. In his hands, the goblet was the size of a bowl, and unlike the goddess, his green bishop vestments were soaked. He panted and looked down at the cup.

"Shall I fetch you more?"

Lex sighed.

"No." He sniffled once before continuing, "Thank you, my lady. I'm alright now."

"Do you wish to speak of it? It may help to rationalize the experience."

The goddess sounded strangely far away. Her dragon's eyes were foggy.

"There's nothing to say," Lex said, not noticing. "I was put to death for heresy. I was guilty, even. Now, whenever there's a little fire, I get… jumpy. And now, Papa Lloyd himself killed me in the same way. The same words. The heat of the flame, and I can't breathe."

He started choking.

"It is alright. Even the Silver Knights have suffered from a warrior's nostalgia. You are not so valiant as they… and you have no need to be. Were I free and the world at peace, I would have you serve the people as you have done in the past – as best you are able! You are clever like Mother. I am sure you could discover new ways to make the world brighter!"

Lex gave a faint smile. Even after the princess had remembered her glorious true nature, she didn't seem discouraged by her imprisonment. He forced himself to stand.

"Easy!" Caffrey said. "There is no need to rush. Time passes even here in this dream, but the Fire does not fade so quickly that you must push yourself."

The cleric groaned in the back of his throat.

"You've been far better at this than I was. I'm an unworthy servant."

"Your strengths are elsewhere!" Caffrey said sternly. "I have been taught the ways of healing by my revered sister, who is their master. I am not her equal, and you should not fear that you are not mine."

Lex sat back down in the chair.

"Well, that's one thing. But I don't know if I've got any hope against Lloyd as long as he can… well, burn me to death again. I should have survived that attack with the power of your miracle. I just… blacked out. It's an illusion, even. I _know_ it's not real. But I feel it the same."

Caffrey rubbed her lips in thought.

"That is troublesome indeed. To say naught of your quest, I do not wish you to plunge into terror again. Was there anything particular about him that might help me identify this imposter?"

"Well, that's easy. It's Princess Gwyndolin."

"Gwyndolin?!" Gwynllian squeaked. "My baby brother?"

"Brother?!" Lex yelped.

"I cannot let this pass. Were it any other, I would not be so alarmed, but I cannot allow my own sibling to be so cruel."

She went to the table again and took up a pair of old clippers from her garden box. She snipped off a lock of her long, interwoven hair, black as the soil in the box.

"Take this, that I might find you."

Lex took it gingerly. Up close, it was different from her mother's hair. It was wilder and brighter, a speckled earthy black rather than an inky darkness. Without asking, he had the new talisman he had wished.

"I am ready to return, but what do you mean, my lady? Are you going to watch over me as I fight?"

The goddess' eyes lit up with a strange glow.

"It shall be a surprise."


	38. Sleepwalkers Dream

Lex rolled out of the bonfire and kicked away. He threw himself against one of the Silver Knight memorials and brandished his fistful of goddess-hair. Yet he wasn't surrounded. The hostile Fire Keeper wasn't there. No guardians of Anor Londo had gathered to take him into custody. There were no assassins ready to kill him again and again (unless they were very good at hiding). There was only an old corpse resting at the side of the illusory statue.

Nothing had been done to stop him from entering the hidden passage behind the statue. Outside, the bridge was still raised, and there was no guard who would keep him from finding whatever mechanism lowered it. He could simply leave. Maybe that was Princess Gwyndolin's goal – to make him return to his Undead Mission.

Lex sighed and decided to take a look at his fellow pilgrim. The ancient hollow must have arrived in the distant past, for the dead northman's furs were in tatters, even out of the weather. The cleric wondered if the princess had really left the body here just to provide extra "evidence" that the statue was real.

The dead savage had a ferocious mane and beard to match. The rusted head of a large battleaxe lay at his feet, and there were splinters of a wooden shield. A number of trinkets decorated his hide armor, and a vaguely familiar eye-shaped diadem was chained across his forehead.

For a northman like this, whether he came from Carim or Balder or anywhere else, passing through the bitter winds and snow of Havel's Teeth would have been an easier task in the time before the Undead Asylum. Lex wasn't entirely surprised to see such a hardy warrior had reached Lordran. What _was_ surprising was that the warrior seemed to have hollowed in peace beneath the shadow of Lord Gwyn.

The hollow's legs were crossed, and his arms were folded in his lap, holding something. It was unlike a hollow to simply rest at peace like that, but Lex thought back to the monks of the Undead Parish. Some had passed into hollowing while in the midst of their studies and turned the pages of their books even now.

Perhaps too curious for his own good, Lex knelt before the old pilgrim. He pried at the hollow's hands, expecting resistance, but they unfolded gently. In the warrior's scarred and calloused palm was a simple bronze ring. Yet somehow, it hadn't corroded at all. Naturally, Lex reached to pick it up.

" _Now I truly stand apart from my father's legacy and from my own. If you would, deliver this sign to my father's tomb. It will let those watchers know that I am utterly beyond their power._ "

The bronze band burned in Lex's fingers. There was nothing to it. It had no gems or magic seals. It had merely basked in the presence of the God of War for centuries and now raged with an inner thunder.

Lex clenched his fists, then looked at the rings on his fingers. He did still have that red tearstone ring, sacred to Caitha. Maybe it was better that he set aside the relics of his former patron.

The cleric slipped the ring from his finger and slotted it on his wand instead. He laid the tin rod down at the feet of the statue, knowing fully that it was an illusion. Gingerly, Lex slipped the ring of the Firstborn of Gwyn onto his finger. Static prickled, and all the hair on his body stood on end as power flowed into him.

"Well, _this_ might help with fighting a god!"

Emboldened by the power of the War God, Lex turned back to the secret passage and descended once more. He didn't stop amidst the candles but immediately pressed through the fog wall. What he found was that infinite hallway, still alight. Piles of ash had filled much of it, and the columns had begun to collapse. Lloyd stood some distance away, stony-faced. Lex's chest grew tight, and the air stuck in his lungs.

"You come before the Allfather once more. Do you repent of your sins and wish to follow once more the Way of White?"

Lex swallowed before speaking, "I probably should confess my sins. But not to you. I- I say again in the name of Princess- no, Queen Gwynllian Rose Talia, surrender the defenses of Anor Londo to me!"

Lloyd narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"As bold as humans ever are. Have the deaths already clouded your mind that much? Have you already forgotten that you are ash before me?"

"Don't think I'm the same as before!"

"Indeed. You have deprived a pilgrim of his god's relic. Graverobbing is a vile sin. It often causes the dead to stir."

"If the God of War still lives, then I'll return it to him! I promised my lady I would find her brother. Though it seems I already have, _Prince_ Gwyndolin."

Lloyd stared blankly at that accusation. The flames around him flickered as he lost focus. After a moment, he frowned.

"It seems the rebel Velka has given you many secrets. You know too much and will not willingly return to the bliss of ignorance. There can be no mercy. I shall slay you until the Abyss washes the lore from your mind."

Lloyd swung the Sword of Law, unleashing a wave of near-invisible heat. Lex dropped to the ground and whimpered as it flew overhead. He scampered to his feet and hid behind one of the half-melted pillars. The Allfather watched impassively and thrust his greatsword into the floor. Lex watched to see what would happen next – and suddenly found himself thrust into the air. A heat haze in the shape of the sword had burst from the ground.

The cleric screamed as the burning blade struck him without the protection of a Magic Barrier. He panted and tried not to panic. He chanted the words of Second Chance as fast as his tongue would go. Lloyd raised his sword silently for a second thrust.

"Goddess, please. Luck be my Lady."

Just as Lloyd moved to strike, the flow of souls shifted. Lex felt a heartbeat in his eyes. There was a sound like a choir mourning, and a name was whispered in his ears. Lloyd stiffened and tried to peer through the fog wall at the end of the passage.

"Impossible," the grizzled god murmured. "A Darkwraith could not pierce my barrier, and it would not come this close when there are other undead to hunt!"

The fog rippled anyway. A tar-black hand clawed its way through, a bloody red glow shining through the mist.

"I see," the god said. "It was a plot of New Londo to finally assassinate me. You hid your Sealer's wand too late, pawn of Velka! I will not allow traitors to enter this holy place! To me, Blades of the Darkmoon! Keep your covenant and make safe the sacred halls of Anor Londo!"

Silver light glinted over the Allfather, and the air distorted at his feet. As the red phantom entered the room, a pair of blue phantoms rose from a murky Dark.

One was a man of great stature like the Knights of Berenike. His black iron armor was all of spikes and made of segmented plates like a Black Knight of Gwyn. A fence of iron spikes wrapped about his shoulders, and his helm had horns and a crown. Belts clutched long skirts about him, and a jagged longsword with hooks for breaking blades hung low in his grip.

The other Darkmoon Blade didn't suit the name at all. He wore robes and a tall, runed cap. Long hair and a longer beard fell about him, and he wielded an iron staff which clutched a gemstone in claws that looked like the peak of a tower. What this phantom may have lacked in ornateness, he made up for in dignity, with a tall and proud bearing.

Lloyd swung his Sword of Law and unleashed a heat wave. The false Black Knight charged after it, using the magic as a shield against ranged attacks – as if Lex had any. The sorcerer had already begun churning the power of souls to craft some grand spell.

Lex screamed but kept his head. He used the most basic of Lloyd's miracles against him, unleashing a wave of Force to disperse the heat. As fast as that simple orison was, the cleric would be cutting it close to avoid the knight's swing. Yet it turned out he wouldn't have to.

As the blue phantom charged from the front, the red charged from behind. Just as the Darkmoon Blade raised his arm, he was bodied. A pavise greatshield of venerable oak dented the iron faceplate as it struck. The knight floated for a moment as his head fell back but his legs raced forward. With his head tilted back, his neck was exposed. In a flash, a short halbered had skewered him.

As the phantom fell, a beam erupted from behind him. Lex threw himself to the floor, but the oaken shield crashed down in front of him. Soul energy still seeped through the ancient wood, but the lean phantom seemed unperturbed. It wore segmented plate of white steel over chain. While the Blue Phantom seemed to have crudely imitated the Black Knights, this seemed to be a design older than the perfected armor of the Silver Knights.

The Red Phantom's weapon was a short-hafted halberd with a crooked blade. The entire weapon was carved from a single oak branch – and quite poorly. Lex couldn't even tell whether the markings on it were runes or termite damage.

As the beam sputtered, Lloyd stuttered.

"Th-those relics! I know not how you have come to possess them, but the Blades of the Darkmoon will ensure they-"

With the practiced motions of a Knight of Gwyn, the invader threw their halberd like a Lightning Spear. It pierced the sorcerer without a sound, casting the phantom to the ground.

"Return to your home and hearth in peace, children of Man! You are misled!"

 _There once was a holy maiden afield;_  
 _Forlorn healed in mercy._  
 _In toxic mire, soul was free,_  
 _Kindness of strangers, trusting._

A tear fell from Lex's ordinary eye. Golden light streamed from the phantom and washed across the room. Lex's body twitched and stretched as the hollow flesh under the illusion became hale and whole again. Both of the Blue Phantoms looked at their own bodies in amazement before fading away.

Before Lloyd could even react, Lex had fallen to one knee.

"Hail, Queen of Sunlight!"

"Fraud!" the false Allfather roared as he saw the phantom's face. "The Princess Filianore is lost to eternal slumber! You cannot fool me with the magics of Oolacile! It was I who taught the Xanthous Scholars!"

Caffrey removed her nosed barbute helm. Her eyes were reversed, somehow. Her left eye was now the red one, and it roiled with the hungry power of the Dark. In spite of her fearsome power, she looked on the verge of tears.

"What has become of my brother who used to love every surprise? Yet still he hides behind Father's form as he did of old. Will you not reveal yourself, Dolenor? My time here is short, and there is much we must discuss about the End of Fire."

Lloyd's lip curled into a snarl.

"There is your goal! You have failed to destroy the legacy of Lord Gwyn by force time and again! Now you try to speak those tired old lies! To convince me that the Age of those wretched parasites has come! Begone, phantom!"

Another blistering wave arced from the Sword of Law. Caffrey stood in front of Lex again and braced her shield. The attack burst over its edge, but the heat and force whipped the goddess' long hair back into the cleric's face.

"Oh! I am sorry," she said, whipping her hair down. "Let us hurry. Advance without fear; I will protect you without fail."

"Are you sure, my Lady? A shield can only do so much against magic. You've already been hit a couple of times. It's already a disgrace that _I'm_ not able to protect _you_."

"This shield and I have been through much. This is but little. Its blessing is strong."

Certainly, the shield looked quite holy. Pavises were often painted with icons – saints and gods and proof against the forces of Dark. This one featured a sapling which arose from a winged egg. It was a strange symbol which Lex didn't understand at all, except that he'd already seen a winged egg several times in Lordran. Did it have something to do with that skull-egg Caffrey held in the dream?

"As you say, my Lady. I'll have faith in your strength of arm."

The goddess began to smile, but her eyes went wide.

"Leap aside!"

The burning image of the Sword of Law erupted from the floor as the pair jumped away from each other. Lex panted heavily but focused on his Lady. She pointed silently, hand hidden behind her shield. As the cleric nodded, she charged toward Lloyd, shield lowered like a ram.

"Since _Hanar_ is not here, _Muinthel_ must punish you in his stead!"

"The man you speak of does not exist."

"You claim his right as firstborn, but you will not even say his name?"

As Caffrey thundered down on Lloyd, he raised his sword to his face. The old god began to flicker like heat haze, but a firebomb suddenly exploded on his cheek. It couldn't have done any real damage, but the impact, heat, and light made him yelp in an effete voice, completely out of character. While he was distracted, Caffrey's shield boomed against his armor.

The god was cast through the air, and his illusion was shattered. The fires faded, and the ash blew away. "Princess" Gwyndolin tumbled in a pile of snakes. He wasn't defeated yet and drew a golden bow. It had extra arms such that from the front, it too gave the appearance of an eclipsed sun like his crown. The god clutched a pair of arrows between the first two pairs of fingers and another between the last.

His arm was a blur as he drew the bow again and again, unleashing a torrent of golden arrows. Of course, catching arrows was a task at which wooden shields excelled. Caffrey slammed the pavise against the tiles, and the arrows fell free, the holes filling as the painted wood healed itself. Lex ran up alongside her.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I only had the one firebomb left. I've got a half-rotten crossbow, but I'm not sure it's even effective as a distraction."

"It is enough that we have revealed his true shape. Now we must convince him to stand down."

Gwyndolin hurled a great orb of souls down the hall, but the cleric and goddess split and hid behind opposite pillars as the attack blazed down the center.

"Will he listen?" Lex wondered aloud. "If my visions didn't miss anything, he's been here alone since at least Tarkus' assault. That was hundreds of years ago. I'd guess he's pretty dug in."

A flurry of homing soul orbs shot through the air, but the pair ran in opposite directions, confusing the darts.

"Hundreds of years?" Caffrey echoed. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. After a moment, she said, "My poor brother. I would have taken this burden from him."

It wasn't clear whether they were close enough that Gwyndolin could hear them, but he launched another large orb at Caffrey as she spoke. She gave a great swing and spun her shield about her, using its weight to twirl out of the way. Lex took advantage of the distraction to dash ahead. He was now only one column's distance from the god.

"My L…" Lex started. He thought better of it and continued, "Caffrey, you can't take back what's already happened. You can only move forward."

That close, Gwyndolin couldn't miss. Caffrey started running with all her might, but she was too far away. The enormous orb of souls would kill Lex if he didn't dodge immediately. So he didn't. He ran directly into the light, throwing himself into the air.

"Lexion!" Caffrey yelled.

The cleric screamed in agony as the raw power washed over him. He died and returned to life again by the power of the miracle he'd cast earlier. In spite of the spiritual power of the attack, it did nothing to stop his momentum. The god's snakes lashed at him, but they lacked the sheer mass to stop him.

The god fell in an ungraceful heap. The snakes bit at Lex's exposed flesh, but a former Deacon of the Deep was too accustomed to poisons and small barbs piercing the skin. He didn't need to rise and fight this time. He just needed to be sure the renegade god could do no harm. He pinned Gwyndolin's arms to his sides and refused to let go no matter how the prince struggled.

 _Thunder of ancient Man become a beast,_  
 _Bloody feast, heroes grand!_  
 _I fear not in pagan lands,_  
 _Malice broken by my hand!_

Caffrey clasped her hands in prayer, and concentric spell rings emitted about her like ripples on water. Thin clouds drifted through the air. As they touched Caffrey, Lex, and Gwyndolin, blue sparks arced onto the three.

"Release my brother, Lexion. He can do no evil now. His Soul Arts have been sealed."

"I'm… not sure I can get up," the cleric groaned.

"Your efforts have availed you nothing, Darkwraith!" Gwyndolin hissed. "There are still men who are wise or selfish enough to see there is need for Flame – even a Flame without gods!"

"Little Dolenor, do you not see me? Even now, I Keep the Fire."

"A trick!"

"I cannot believe that you would not have learned the secrets of Seath's sight. Yet if the eyes of a serpent cannot be trusted, then behold the power which I alone possess."

The goddess knelt beside the pile of Lex and Gwyndolin and snakes. She laid her shield on the ground and reached into a pouch. She plucked a single seed from it and kissed the kernel. It cracked and sprouted immediately, growing into a delicate crimson blossom.

"Lexion, chew this. It will cure your poisoning enough to heal yourself."

She lifted the flower to his mouth. Lex took it with his teeth. It tasted mostly like water, but there was a hint of medicinal bitterness. He could feel his limbs grow lighter. Caffrey rose and extended a hand to her brother.

"It… it really _is_ you, _Muinthelon_."

Gwyndolin took her hand and stood. His snakes hid their faces in shame.

"Please, forgive me. I would have come if I were able. My memories were sealed until Lexion found me. Lord Ludleth was forbidden to speak of-"

Her eyes went wide as she realized what Lex had already suspected. Her father was dead; elder brother in exile; and elder sister missing. If her orders were being overridden, it could only be by the ruling King of Anor Londo.

"You know," she said sadly.

Gwyndolin grimaced beneath his crown.

"Even I cannot say. It was a commandment of Father's I would never break."

The god looked away.

"I might forgive you for that," Caffrey said, "but I will hold you accountable for what you have done to my people whilst I slumbered."

"Your people?" Gwyndolin growled. "The humans are merely a burden! They feed on you like parasites!"

"They are my responsibility. Just as you try to deflect yours." The Princess Filianore grew proud and tall as she continued, "You have hidden behind a false image to hide your involvement. You have kept the faithful Pygmy Lords from their duties. You have tormented my bishop in a way most cruel. I have heard from him rumors of further crimes."

"What crime can be committed against vermin?"

"You repeat the words of Seath without knowing their meaning, little brother. You are too young to remember the reason for Father's fear of the Dark. I know you have tried your dearest, that you have struggled and fought. Yet your choices affect the lives of countless _people_. It is with sadness that I declare…"

"You would not!"

"I am _Lían Merilîg Ariamîdh Gwâniel_ ," she said, and her voice echoed through the hall. "With the passing of _Fion Gwân_ , the exile of _Enethor Thorondil Aralagos Gwânion_ , and the absence of _Faerwen Ylfcyll Mabathae Gwâniel_ , I am as my bishop declared – Queen of Sunlight! _Dolenor Ithildir Úlanpador Gwânion_ , I hereby relieve you of your duties to Anor Londo, to the Way of White, and to any secret project which acts against my domain as Princess of the Mortal Lands!"

Thunder roared and the windows rattled throughout the infinite hall.

"What have you done?" Gwyndolin hissed. "You know nothing! You have been asleep too long! You would undo all that I have sacrificed?"

"You misspeak, my brother. What have _you_ sacrificed?" Caffrey took an uneven breath before continuing, "You are free now. Journey to the west and join our people there. I am sure Grandfather will not judge you harshly."

"I will not flee from fleas."

"Then remain here. Yet you will serve, and you will learn humility befitting your station. Our time is over. It is the duty of we who remain to teach the humans, that they might _truly_ inherit the Flame."


	39. Gates of Steel

Lex continued to stand aside while the gods spoke between themselves in their own language. He could catch parts of it but not enough to learn anything. He could have tried spying on their conversation with his eye – it might have worked. Still, it didn't feel right to cut in between long-separated siblings. At last, the edges of Caffrey's phantom form grew hazy, and she began to fade away.

"It seems my time is at an end," she said sadly. "I will not risk further disrupting my sleep by invading once more. We may not meet again until it is safe for me to awaken. Farewell, my brother. If you have need of me, you may send message through Bishop Lexion."

She turned and waved.

"Until next time, dear Lexion. As much as I enjoy your company, do try to keep yourself alive."

The phantom faded away, and god and man were left alone.

"You know not what you have done," Gwyndolin said.

"What _I've_ done? I'm not-"

"No," the god said, sighing. "You may hate me and my designs, but it is you who has doomed us all. Princ- Queen Gwynllian was to be kept in the Dark."

"What do you mean? Isn't the Dark basically poison?"

"Yes. It has already begun to take a toll on her sleeping body. In spite of the risks, Lord Gwyn deemed it necessary. In the Age of Ancients, the fathers of the gods forged this world from nothing. With Fire, they could _see_. They could burn away the Fog and bring light and color. They led their people out of the Dark below.

Everything in this world exists because Fire allows it to be perceived. All things follow the vision of Lord Gwyn. Dark is a poison to existence itself, for it erases perception. Yet, Dark has its uses. By hiding the Fire's decline from a god as powerful as the Princess Filianore, we had ensured it would never truly fade… so long as her body endured. Her dreams of Fire… her perception of Flame without end, would keep the world from slipping altogether into Dark."

The dethroned Allfather and King slithered toward the cleric.

" _You_ ," the god hissed, "you witless pawn of madness, have beckoned the lynchpin of Fire to the outside world! She knows the hollowness of Anor Londo and of the gods' flight to the west! She will doubt the Fire's strength now. Even in attempting to abandon your wicked master, you do his will!"

Lex thought briefly about the seriousness of the situation. He was speaking to the former master of the gods, who no doubt knew more about the world's decline than anyone. Unfortunately, he still resented Lloyd too much.

"So about those troops for Izalith?"

Gwyndolin snarled but did nothing. His hands quivered with rage as he held his royal scepter.

"I will send what Silver Knights I can spare. The giants will be useless in pursuit, and that land of brutes hardly needs more mindless strength."

The god turned.

"This way. Queen Gwynllian has instructed me to prepare you for the inevitable."

Without waiting for Lex, Gwyndolin continued down the passage. Golden motes flaked from the walls, and the hall contracted to its original length. Lex shrugged and followed after. The hall opened onto a vast, dimly-lit room. Golden sunlight drifted in from a single tall window, falling on the center of a rectangular platform the size of a market street. A set of steps were in front of it, but they didn't go anywhere and didn't have an obvious purpose. A single chair sat alone in the room, turned toward the steps.

"Behold, the honorary tomb of the Great Lord. The Lord's body was lost to Flame, but here, he is held in honor by those who know the truth."

"Your inner circle, then?"

"My faithful Blades of the Darkmoon. Those few humans who would cast aside their Dark and do whatever is necessary to preserve Flame."

"They sound like a sunny bunch, especially with a name that starts with 'Dark' and ends with 'moon.'"

"The darkmoon is the final lunar phase. The last light before the world falls into darkness."

"Because the stars don't exist. To say nothing of torches."

The god whirled about, gripping his scepter so hard as if to bend it. The blue static which had sealed his magic had long dispersed. The only thing keeping him from attacking was his own self-control.

"I must serve the new Queen, but I need not suffer your abuse!"

"Really, though? Do you? _Do you_ have to serve her? You were defeated in battle, sure, but she's gone now. I've read enough of history. An absolute ruler doesn't just _give up_."

"I am not human! Nor am I one of the cowards who fled to Heide! I am _Dolenor Ithildir Úlanpador Gwânion_ – Gwyndolin Manward Caelan! Do you think I would agitate the one whose mental state holds the very world together?"

Lex quirked an eyebrow. That sounded plausible. Not to mention that his lady couldn't exactly rule from where she was. How much would losing the official titles of Allfather and King actually affect this prince?

"Alright, fine. What is it that we need to do here?"

"Much of the power of Anor Londo is spent. Queen Gwynllian wished for you to be given the resources of a dragonslayer, but I do not have that capacity. The power of sunlight has always eluded me, and the old relics have been used or lost. There is only one treasure remaining, and I would have saved it. I have been ordered to give it to you."

After descending into the room, Gwyndolin climbed the other set of steps before the giant platform. His snakes slid their heads to the ground, raising him over its edge. Atop it was lain white flowers and an ancient scroll. Gwyndolin whispered something and took the latter. He returned to Lex and thrust the venerable parchment at him.

"This was left by the exile as tribute."

"Why can't you say your own brother's-"

"I have no brother."

"Yes, that's how _damnatio memoriae_ works. Erased from history; anybody who admits that the victim existed has their whole family purged; et cetera. But you _were_ in charge, and my lady clearly doesn't care."

"The exile committed the crime which earned that punishment after Her Majesty had entered slumber."

"What could the God of War have done that's so bad you won't speak of it even after he's long gone? I mean, _God of War_. He couldn't have been the most innocent god to begin with."

Gwyndolin grimaced. It almost looked like he would answer, but then he pointed his scepter accusingly.

"It is no business of yours. You might have asked of the rebel Velka, but now that avenue is closed to you. The betrayer will not himself tolerate betrayal. Take this forbidden miracle to match your stolen ring."

Lex grabbed the parchment and unfurled it. There was an ancient illustration on it, penned in blood. The sun shone upon a field of golden grain. A knight with a flowing scarf harvested it with a thunderbolt. Lex heard the echo of the War God.

" _Father, I will have no need of weapons where I go. I return this to you._ "

Beneath the image was faded text in what seemed to be the gods' language. Lex's training as a cleric allowed him to read it word-for-word, without context or fluency. It was because of such incomplete knowledge that miracles often degraded as they were recopied. Still, part of faith was in the interpretation.

Lex rolled the scroll again and handed it back to Gwyndolin. He held up his lash with one hand and his lock of Caffrey's hair with another.

 _Praise the sun for arch-harvests in times past!_  
 _Howling blast, greatwoods mar;_  
 _'gainst our foes he rides afar!_  
 _Praise Eagle-Son, God of War!_

Some static electricity made Caffrey's hair stand on its own. Lex stared at the talisman. Nothing else was happening. He shook it as if that would make the holy power fall out. Gwyndolin gave out a haughty laugh.

"Ye of little faith! You cannot use it! Such is the great Bishop of Courland! You do not even know the tale of Great Heal, do you, deacon?"

"Do _you_ , sorcerer?"

Gwyndolin ground his teeth.

"Get you gone," the god hissed. "Ascend to the Lord's keep. Many undead have conquered Sen's Fortress in your wake. Some may be willing to aid your fool cause. Seek the relic of Queen Gwynevere in the throne room. Speak also to the giant blacksmith. It will not do for the Queen's Bishop to wear the Duke's garb."

"Now, was that so hard?"

"When you hollow at last, human, I will take great pleasure in casting your remains into the depths of the sea."

Lex shrugged.

"My lady said that one of her servants was still here. Where can I find that person?"

Gwyndolin smiled from ear to ear but quickly hid it.

"Do as I have said. You will find him on the way to the throne room. He yet still wears the sign of the green blossom, so you should find him without trouble. He will need no introduction."

"That's not suspicious at all."

Lex stared at the god. It was impossible to tell whether the prince was cracking under pressure thanks to the eye-covering crown.

"Fine," Lex said after a moment. "I'll tell my lady you obeyed the _letter_ of her orders."

"Speak properly of Her Majesty. She is no mere 'lady.'"

"Right," the cleric said, turning. "She did say something about that once. I'll be sure to call her Caffrey, then."

"You-!"

Lex simply walked away. He ascended the stairs several at a time. The god would have to shout up at him if he wanted to argue. Unchallenged, the human continued through the vast hall as fast as he could walk. He didn't want to give Gwyndolin the satisfaction of hearing him run away, but he could barely breathe as the heat of the flames replayed in his mind. At last, he reached the memorial and the bonfire, but he still couldn't relax. The knightess Fire Keeper leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"How does it feel," she asked wistfully, "to know that you've gone further than _Tarkus_?"

"You're not going to kill me again?"

She took a long breath.

"There is no need. I imagine every creature sworn to the gods heard that decree. If you were in there with Master Gwyndolin and our new queen, then you must be a true servant of the gods. I will not apologize for dispensing my duty, but you have nothing more to fear from me."

"Then why are you here?"

"I came for the Darkwraith, as is my duty. Imagine my surprise that a god could use the Abyssal Red Eye."

Lex sighed. Politics were exhausting. Trying to kill you one life and pleasantly chatting a few later? He wondered if it would go this easily for the rest of the Way of White. How would those old bishops react to the appearance of a forgotten child of Gwyn?

"Beats me," he said.

He had no context for what an Abyssal Red Eye was. Caffrey's eyes were draconic. How could they be corrupted by the Abyss? Even if her body was being poisoned by Dark, he didn't think the ancient dragons could be affected. If he had a little more information, he might have been able to use his own eye to learn the truth. More importantly, though, he needed to get away from this literal lunatic.

"Well, if that's all…" he started.

"Just a warning," the knightess said as he began to walk away. "A team of killers is making their attempt on the Lord's palace. Keep your wits about you."

Lex nodded and continued. The bridge had been lowered again, so he merely had to climb the stairs. At the top, he turned the lever and looked up for the grotesques which had attacked him before. They were simply gone. If other undead were here, they must have gotten further than he did. Still, it was an impressive feat to have defeated a pair of those creatures which could fight on the level of Chaos demons.

Ahead, the main road stretched on for a span. Beyond that, a grand stair climbed so high that Lex almost got a crick in his neck looking up. There were large steps for the gods down the center and smaller steps for Men on either side. The prophet let his sight run free, watching specters of the two races climb to speak with the highest authority of all. Saints and heroes marched as if on parade, and it slowly sank in that he was very far from the Cathedral.

Lex swallowed and followed behind the ghost of Havel. He avoided making eye contact with a specter of the Pardoner, just to be safe. After taking a few steps, though, he stopped. When he really thought about it, there were far too many individual steps. He couldn't remember the last time he'd climbed stairs one at a time, but he also didn't want to be seen jumping up three at a time.

"Well, I'm pretty important now. Definitely more important than your average Noldor citizen. So this is fine."

That was the half-baked justification he made as he walked sideways and began climbing the gods' part of the stairway. These steps were twice the height of the human ones, so he was technically still taking them one at a time but also making much faster progress.

What rose before him like the morning sun was a cathedral-fortress of such grandeur that it dwarfed everything but Lex's half-seen vision of unbroken Izalith. On either side were subordinate cathedrals which supported it, each likewise larger than any mortal structure. Anor Londo was built in a basin, yet the central keep towered to such a height that it could nearly match the top of the mountain wall.

A tall, sharp arch featuring that unfamiliar six-petaled emblem rose above the main gate. Above that was a circular stained glass window – a rose window – as big around as a peasant's hovel. It was a green blossom blooming from within a green blossom. At its center was that six-petaled flower again, and between each of the sixteen petals of the outer flower was a four-petaled flower containing a cross.

"This is Lord Gwyn's keep. And that rotten prince has been in charge this entire time. Why is Caffrey's sign the centerpiece? What's that other flower?"

Above the central window was a row of four arched and pinched windows. Had he been inside, he probably wouldn't have cared, but with the cathedral facing away from the illusory sunset, the darkened panes looked like humanity sprites. Between the windows were three pointed crosses, and from them stretched frames which looked like thorned branches. Somehow, reddish sunlight glimmered off the crosses like slitted eyes in spite of the angle.

"Why does this feel more like the demon capital all of a sudden?"

"Oho? Prophet Lexion, is that you?"

Lex reached the top of the stairs and found the onion knights standing before the keep's main doors.

"It _is_ you!" Siegmeyer bellowed. "My goodness, you gave us quite the fright! We didn't know whether you had gone hollow or merely been transported back to Sen's Fortress. We consulted with Sage Logan when you didn't reappear, but even he had no way of knowing."

"I must apologize, Your Holiness," Sieglinde said, bowing. "Father meant to go back for you, but when I saw the bridge had been lowered, I suggested you had gone ahead."

"No, that's reasonable," Lex said. "I actually was the one to lower the bridge, but I had business at the memorial below. I'm impressed you haven't started the journey back, though."

He neglected to mention that he had already forgotten her name. Sieg-something, obviously, but what?

"I have found myself before the keep of Lord Gwyn and Lady Berenike. I would be remiss as one of the faithful if I did not even attempt to pay my respects here."

"Very true," the cleric said thoughtfully. "I've already gotten so used to this sort of thing that it's hard to remember sometimes. I'm starting to feel more like an errand boy than a pilgrim. Go seek the Duke, find the god hiding beneath the city, get the relic from the throne room…" He sighed before continuing, "Still, I am a priest. A full priest now! A bishop even! If you have any need of spiritual guidance, don't hesitate to ask."

"That is a kind offer," Siegmeyer said, "and congratulations on your promotion. Ah, it takes me back. I made a short pilgrimage in my youth. A proper one, before the outbreak of undead, with many pilgrims and a cleric to guide us. I often remember the words of Cleric Bertram when I find myself stumped. Mmmm. Much like I am now."

Sieglinde nodded.

"I mean no offense, Sir Prophet, but we may have greater use of your blessings for mundane purposes."

"We seem to have run flat up against a wall."

"That is just you being stubborn, Father."

"I will not risk both our lives running atop a rooftop like common thieves! The Silver Knights were kind enough to fire warning shots! Do you think they would truly miss if we were to go further?"

"Is that not another trial the gods have set for pilgrims, Father?"

"Hmmm… What do you think, Prophet Lexion? Is this a trial? Do the gods truly wish us to fight against the Silver Knights themselves? I imagine we would come to blows on such a narrow path."

Lex rubbed his lips in thought. He knelt at the top of the stairs and looked up the the tremendous green blossom. With practiced motion, he drew his lash and struck it across his back. The iron failed to cut the enchanted silk, but the speed of the stroke still stung. Siegmeyer gasped, having not seen it before.

"A flagellant," Sieglinde said. "From the Cathedral of the Deep, I assume?"

"I was. I was expelled from the Cathedral in the usual fashion, if you catch my meaning. Goddess Caitha had mercy on me and sent me to Lordran as her prophet. Since you last saw me, though, I have accepted the mantle of a different deity."

"O-oh. Is that wise?"

"Definitely not."

"What has happened?" Siegmeyer said with some alarm. "Surely, you would not betray the mission which has been given you?"

"No. In a certain way, I'm being more true to it. Goddess Caitha told me to question everything. The way things have gone, she's the one most worthy of questioning. And now I have the authority to do it."

He rose and walked to the gates. There were three scenes in relief as his eyes followed the tremendous double doors up. First was an angel speaking to a maiden. Second was a child teaching both children and adults as angels looked on. The third showed a child angel taking the head of a slain man. All around the reliefs were depictions of flowering vines. Lex didn't understand them at all.

Further, this was the second time he'd seen an angel in Anor Londo. What _was_ an angel? Why did he know what those winged figure were named? They weren't in the Way of White canon, and he hardly remembered any from any of his closely-reread heretical tomes. Maybe those were crow wings?

He cleared his mind and shouted out, "In the name of Queen Gwynllian Rose Talia, open the gate for the Bishop of Courland!"

The onion knights jumped, no doubt expecting a thunderstroke on hearing that name again. They stood stock still for several seconds, until it became clear that nothing was happening. Lex coughed.

"Gwyndolin has surrendered hi-er claim and given me right of passage! Open the doors, that I might speak with my senior servant of the Queen!"

Still more time passed. Siegmeyer looked at the elaborate doors thoughtfully.

"Perhaps no one is left to open them."

Lex sighed.

"You might be right. I don't even know what the remaining servants of the gods are doing here. Other than that shady 'Blades of the Darkmoon' stuff. Well. Maybe I can try speaking with those Silver Knights you saw."

"Oho! Such faithful warriors might be more willing to let a bishop pass. Once they are assured we are not mere treasure hunters, they will surely let us across without violence."

As they turned away, though, they heard heavy footsteps approaching. On either side of the platform before the main gate was a marble wall which separated it from the platforms for the lesser cathedrals. These had enormous wrought-iron gates with smaller doors in them for humans. The right side's main gate was already open, and now the left side opened as well.

A masked giant slave, like the ones which had staffed Sen's Fortress, peeked around it. The half-stone creature spoke in broken and halting Anor-tongue. Its voice was appropriately deep and gravelly.

"You know _Lían Araniel?_ Hurry. Not allowed to open."


	40. The Castle Hall

Without any other option, they followed the giant to the abutting cathedral. One of those hideous red-handed flying creatures watched them stiffly, but Lex saw that it was merely an illusion. The giant ignored it as well and stooped to enter the cathedral through a god-sized door. There was none of the grandeur of the gods here. It seemed that the religious nature of the building was merely the gods' own architectural style. Within was a plain and functional room.

Godly blacksmith's tools were set all around an anvil the size of a boulder. Some finished pieces were lain against the wall, including shields without patterning which suspiciously resembled those of Balder and Berenike knights.

"Up," the giant said, pointing to a staircase which wound around the room. "Humans fight guards. Find Fire bowl."

He sat on an old wooden stool which was far too small and gestured to the anvil and tools – which were also too small.

"Forge, I can! Strong, I am! Come if you need! Tell _Lían Araniel_ I still here. Alby still here."

"Then you're the one sworn to Her Majesty?" Lex said.

"No covenant. Giants, slaves. Conquered. I forge for Tuirenn. Tuirenn leave. Everyone else leave. I still here. No masters. Only forging."

"Ah, that's right. Gwyndolin did mention a giant blacksmith."

"Gwyndolin?" Sieglinde echoed. "Not 'Princess'?"

"Honestly, I've got enough beef with Dolenor to throw a banquet. That said… Alby, Gwyndolin said you'd be able to make me a uniform or armor or something."

"Mng. Too heavy. Giant armor. Need lighter metal. You bring, I forge anything. Maybe bring soul."

"What's this about a soul?"

"Duke teach. Bring soul, I forge. Make strong weapon."

"Well, that's terrifying."

"To forge a soul itself…" Siegmeyer whispered.

Sieglinde was silent.

"Not scary," the giant said, shaking his head. "New life."

"Well, we don't have any souls," Lex said, swallowing. "We'll keep an eye out for metals."

"Good. I help anytime."

With that, the giant turned back to his anvil. The tremendous slab of steel was so small compared to him that he had to stoop over it. With tongs so comparatively small that he had to hold them delicately, he removed a red-hot bar of metal from his furnace and began hammering it with an enormous wooden mallet. Sparks – not from heat but from electricity – began to arc from the bar to the anvil, and the hammer's material suddenly made sense.

Lex turned to the onion knights, who still seemed a little unsettled. He nodded upward, and all three took to the stairs. They weren't really sure where they were going, so they checked each door as they climbed. It seemed this building was mostly military in nature. There were storerooms for weapons and ammunition, rooms full of maps of long-vanquished nations, rooms with preserved food and for preserving more food, rooms for sparring and barracks where the Silver Knights must have slept.

Higher and higher they went, until they reached a passage across to the main keep. Yet as they emerged, they heard the sounds of combat. They found themselves in a grand central hallway, halfway to the roof of the tremendous keep. They rushed to the nearby balcony and looked on, though Sieglinde double-checked that they weren't running into an ambush.

Far below on the diamond-patterned marble floors, five men spilled blood in the castle of the Great Lord. There were three there as flesh, a blue phantom, and a yellow-orange phantom. Lex recognized all of them and broke into a cold sweat. What could have caused all these people to gather?

The blue phantom, manifesting with the power of the Darkmoon, was Oscar. Though Lex was too far to make out the heraldry without using his eye, he didn't need to. The orange phantom was Solaire, fighting at his fellow knight's side. Fighting with the holy warrior was another orange-tinged knight of Gwyn's line. Lautrec, in his dirty brass armor, kicked Solaire away and rushed under his shield for a low blow.

Just as Oscar might have represented all the good and noble stories of Astora's knights, his foe was all that was wicked in Carim. Earl Arstor the Impaler, long rumored to have been undead even before the spread of the Curse, was pushing back the good knight. The Earl's legendary spear of iron wrapped in coiled and petrified entrails was unmistakable even at this distance. Lex had already seen it once.

Still, the third member of this group might have filled him with the most dread. The beaked mask was missing, but those were the robes and rod of one of New Londo's Sealers. It was possible that this person had merely pilfered them, but Lex deeply doubted that his former patron would allow that.

Worse, this was an unnatural combination. The Sealer was of course a sorcerer-priest of Velka. Arstor was infamously reputed to be party to Velka's secret rites, as his earldom produced the precious and vile purging stones. Lautrec, of course, was no saint in spite of being a holy knight. Indeed, he and Arstor likely had much in common. Only, he deeply hated Velka. What could have driven him to work with a priest and a cultist of the Raven-Haired Witch?

"That is a Warrior of Sunlight!" Siegmeyer cried out suddenly. "We must hurry to his aid!"

The onion knight gave up a sort of pitiful roar and sprinted toward the stairs.

"Wait, it's-!"

Well, now that Lex thought on it, there probably wasn't any trap. Lautrec wasn't the type to leave loose ends. If there was anything in the environment he could have used against the Astorans, he would have already done so. As Sieglinde chased after her father, the cleric looked around one last time with the fullness of his Seath-empowered sight. Domhnall's strange soul was nowhere to be found. However, there were two powerful souls lurking deeper in the keep. Fortunately, they seemed content to hide beyond the distant soul fog. Lex sighed and hurried after the onions.

Round and round they went, down slick marble stairs with no railings. They all had to stop and take a breath at one point. Solaire and Oscar were on the edge of defeat by the time the Catarinans arrived. Solaire had been too proud to retreat, and Oscar hadn't been willing to abandon him to reposition. As a result, the superior fencers Lautrec and Arstor merely had to whittle them down while the Sealer showered them with sorcery.

Of course, instead of doing things the sensible Carimin way, Siegmeyer charged directly into the melee.

"Have at you, fiends!"

That gave Arstor enough of a warning that he could raise his spear in time. Siegmeyer had run in from the right side, so the earl's shield was out of reach. Even blocking with a sturdy guard and hands at either end of the shortspear, the lithe nobleman was hurtled over the marble. His dark leather longcoat fluttered as he flipped and slid to a stop on heavy boots.

"I thought I'd smelled an onion!" he chuckled darkly. "Good. I needed a seasoning."

In spite of his wolfish grin, Arstor's bloodshot eyes danced around. He paced slowly, angling for an easier guard against the newcomer without completely exposing his back to Solaire. At the same time, the Sealer retreated toward Lautrec before Sieglinde could reach him.

"Praise the Sun!" Solaire cried. "It is wonderful that the spirit of sunlight has not completely fled from Anor Londo!"

"I would never abandon a Warrior of Sunlight!" Siegmeyer replied, the two men seeming to feed each other's shouting.

"Then let us join forces to defeat this wicked foe! He has done the impossible! The unthinkable! He has slain a Fire Keeper!"

"It matters not how many come," Lautrec growled.

He took advantage of Solaire's distraction to whip a low kick around the holy warrior's ankle. As the golden phantom slipped, the wicked knight arced his right blade up and lanced through Solaire's side.

"Solaire!" Oscar yelled.

He started toward his fellow Astoran, but Arstor made a quick thrust to scare him back.

"Lambs to the slaughter! Moths to a flame!" Lautrec continued as he whipped his blade around and threw Solaire. "You don't even understand what you're seeking."

"Then explain!" Lex said as he stood on the edge of the last platform.

The cleric had held back instead of rushing in. He was hesitant to charge into combat with Lautrec. He had no idea why the wicked knight served the same peaceful goddess.

"So even you've come this far, raven-pawn. I arrived none too soon."

"Pawn? What about your friends? Earl Arstor and a Sealer?"

"I did not ask for this vile blood!" Arstor hissed. "I shall repay her with her own art!"

The Sealer just looked tired.

"We thought we were untouchable," he said, "that we knew all there was to know. Our goddess had shown us… Moonlight. Ancient beyond the Duke. We did not see what she had shown others… The Dark."

"There you have it!" Lautrec said, throwing his arms wide. "Even the greatest of Men are merely pieces in the gods' game, whether knight or bishop."

Sieglinde tried to inch closer while they were speaking. Lautrec's hand went to his belt, and he flicked a dagger back at her. She deflected it easily with her shield but took a step back.

"We are putting an end to this, as Men."

"An end to what?" Oscar hissed. "A maiden's life? Don't play this as some grand gesture. The gods have granted me this power to take vengeance for the Fire Keeper. That is enough."

"Really? Which gods? Do you think any wholesome deity would leave that Black Eye Orb? An unnatural thing of living stone, bent on vengeance?"

Oscar's stance faltered.

"Oscar!" Solaire shouted. "Don't believe him!"

"No," Oscar said, firming up again. "I do believe him. I do not excuse him."

Lautrec and Arstor looked at one another. Both laughed.

"Ah, principles are a fine thing," the Impaler said, flashing sharp teeth. "Even I had them once. Perhaps he'll listen to reason, Lautrec. One fewer to kill, that way. Izak?"

The Sealer spoke up next: "A Fire Keeper's life is bound to her bonfire. She cannot die as long as it is lit, and pity the undead who tries to take the Coiled Sword from its ashes."

Lautrec finished: "Do you know how I killed the maiden, her body unblemished by my blade?"

"No, I don't," Oscar said. "I'm sure you'll tell me."

"How strong do you think a Fire Keeper must be? These girls bound to Flame? Never leaving the fireside. Watching undead slowly go hollow for the rest of their lives. They _are_ strong. Yet fragile. I told her she could die. In the name of Goddess Fina, Mistress of the Hearth, she could die. It broke her, just for a moment."

"You're saying she died of depair?"

"Of relief. Goddess Fina would not have her maidens bear the weight of Flame. I released her from service."

Oscar was silent. Surprisingly, so was Solaire. They must have remembered what the channeler had said at the Undead Parish. The onion knights looked at one another. Lex broke the silence by finally starting down the last flight of stairs.

"What are you putting an end to, Lautrec? It was Velka who attacked Anor Londo. You're doing her work."

"Unfortunate but necessary. We required a relic in the possession of the false Queen."

"Which Queen? The Witch Queen?"

Lautrec genuinely chuckled.

"Maybe you'll see for yourself if you survive. She's quite the sight."

"You've already got the relic, then?"

"I owe you no explanation, cleric. Astoran! Make your choice! Return to your body or be returned!"

Oscar raised his sword again.

"I already have. Her life wasn't yours to take. Nor was it any goddess'. She could have been helped."

"By who? Any of the countless undead who used her bonfire? By you? Do you even know her name?"

"I- No."

"There we have it. Quite greedy, aren't you? Use her bonfire, use her as an excuse to enact justice. What had you ever done for her, to ease her burden? Tongue cut out, hamstrings slashed. What could she do but suffer there in silence? She was not even granted the mercy of sleep."

"You think death better?"

"It is the place of the weak to die. Ah, but I said she was strong, didn't I? The soul of a Fire Keeper is overburdened with humanity. It is far too great a thing to disperse like most pathetic undead. If you kill me and take it, you could restore her life. How about it, hero?"

"Nothing changes. My path is set. I will hold you and even the gods to account."

"Spoken like a Man! Arstor, switch with me! Show that Warrior of Sunlight how to use a spear!"

Lightning crackled in Solaire's grasp, and the bolt flew at the tarnished gold knight. Lautrec ran toward it, then slid on the polished marble. Arstor flew backward, just out of range of Siegward's enormous blade. The Lightning Spear flew overhead, and Lautrec slid under just as the earl reached him. Arstor planted his feet and braced his wooden shield as Lautrec hooked one blade over its edge and pulled himself up.

A second bolt struck almost harmlessly against the aged wood of the shield, emblazoned with a white dragon. Lautrec ducked behind Arstor's back before charging Oscar and Siegmeyer. At the same time, the Impaler lowered his spear and dashed toward Solaire. The onion knight started to swing his sword defensively, but he pulled back as Oscar stepped out to meet Lautrec's attack.

The veteran Embraced Knight took advantage of the lack of coordination and his earlier taunting of Oscar. As both of his foes readied for an attack on the Astoran in front, he ducked to the side and flipped both blades across his chest like the embracing arms of his armor. Siegmeyer choked as blood spilled into his throat.

Though the Catarinan armor was expertly-designed, the valley between the helm and gorget would only serve to guide a decapitating blow – quite rare in actual combat and so usually an acceptable tradeoff for protection from arrows and maces. Siegmeyer gave a throaty growl that gurgled through the blood.

Then he whimpered, "Lin…"

Oscar swatted at Lautrec with his shield. The blow hit, but at the distant backward angle, it didn't have much power. The Embraced Knight turned with the strike and rolled out of Oscar's range. He rose at an odd angle, minimizing his profile to the Astoran knight while looking back to Sieglinde. He grunted in satisfaction, and Siegmeyer's onion helm clattered to the floor. The Catarinan's body took a moment longer.

"Father…" Sieglinde said.

Her tone was mournful, but she didn't sniffle or take her eyes from the sorcerer in front of her.

"Please, for Mercy's sake, stay at the bonfire."

Arstor the Impaler kicked Solaire away and leapt backward. He let go of his shield grip and clapped his spear into the open hand.

"My, and they say I'm vicious! Positively splendid! You don't see a battlefield decapitation every day!"

The earl ducked as Solaire threw his shield this time.

"Out of options?" he said, smiling with sharp teeth.

Solaire threw a Lightning Spear. It flew high, then arced to the shield in midair behind Arstor. Though the energy was split, it struck the wicked nobleman with enough power to stun him. The Warrior of Sunlight roared and charged, swinging his straightsword with both hands. It tore across Arstor's leather, and blood spurted from a great gash.

"Tit for tat!" the earl snarled.

Solaire tried to dodge, but iron and jagged petrified intestine pierced his side. Arstor seemed to come alive as he was bathed in his own blood and his foe's. As Solaire tried to defend with only his sword, a flurry of thrusts overwhelmed his guard. A thousand wounds opened as the jagged blade pierced or cut his commoner's chain mail.

"Come! Show me the radiance of the Sun!"

"The Sun shines on all, monster!"

Their clashing was interrupted as the Sealer nearly backed into Arstor. The earl grabbed him by the collar and jumped back as Sieglinde's greatsword sliced through the blood-red cloth. Lautrec turned just enough to see the clash as it unfolded. He tugged at Oscar's shield with one blade, then kicked beneath it. Once the Astoran was focused on defense, he took several steps backward before turning and breaking into a dash.

Sieglinde whirled around before he could take her by surprise. Only his expert reflexes kept him from crashing headlong into her waiting blade. Arstor turned toward her, but Solaire ran up again. The onion knightess was still forced to dodge as the Sealer unleashed a blast of soul power. Once she was out of the way, Lautrec quickly fell into formation, and the two warriors of Carim protected their sorcerer.

"This way!" Lex shouted as he finally reached the battle.

The three other knights formed on the cleric.

"It is good to see you again!" Solaire said, somewhat haggardly.

"That choice the channeler mentioned," Oscar said. "Was this it?"

The knight nodded to Lex wearing the uniform. Lex shook his head.

"Well, the Duke certainly hoped so. I've found a more reliable patron, though. She's even shown me a few tricks."

"Oh?" Solaire said. "Then we are-"

A bruise-colored aura formed around Lex, and there was a faint hum. Solaire's phantom vanished. Oscar turned slightly at the sudden stop.

"Solaire? What-? Where did he-?"

Now Oscar vanished. This time, Sieglinde saw what Lex had done.

"A separation crystal! Why? Are these not enemies of the gods?!"

"No. Not anymore."

"Such things cannot change so-! They did change. That new queen."

"Now may be a good time to leave Lordran," Lex said seriously. "Take your father with you. The Way of White's order of exile might not hold for much longer."

The knightess didn't take her eyes off the enemy party, but she stepped away from Lex.

"Who is this Gwynllian? Why would she let such criminals be?"

"She is-"

Lautrec interrupted, "You are not worthy of her true name!"

"Run. Now," Lex said. "They won't kill me. And if they do anyway, it doesn't matter. It's like the old saying – 'he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.' You can be curious later."

Sieglinde grumbled. Her head turned slightly; Lex couldn't see her eyes from behind. After a moment's thought, she broke into a sprint. She quickly ducked behind a column so that sorcery couldn't take her from behind. After nothing happened, she continued to the next column. Lex simply walked across the room. The Sealer frowned, and Arstor smirked. Of course, Lautrec's expression couldn't be seen beneath his helm.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of the Pardoner's favorite?" he said flatly.

"I think the better question is how you managed to become a holy knight of Fina. When I thought she was just a half-forgotten goddess of the Sunset Isle, I could accept it. But now I know better. How on earth did you get this?"

He showed the back of his hand, extending his ring finger in an almost vulgar gesture. Lautrec started to snarl, but then he saw it. The Ring of Favor and Protection, just like he wore himself.

"So the goddess took pity even on you," the Embraced Knight said smugly.

"Ah, so it was pity," Lex said. "That explains it. For me, it was friendship."

"What?"

"Every time I die, I find myself in her chambers. I tell her of the outside world. She hasn't mentioned you. I wonder why."

Lautrec made some strange sound.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. When I die, I awaken in that false afterlife where she's trapped."

"A dream," the Sealer whispered.

Arstor growled.

"Incredible," Lautrec hissed. "Of course it would be a fool who makes contact after all this time. What has she said?"

"One of her servants is still here. Princess Gwyndolin said so as well. That's not just you, is it? They were supposed to have been here all along."

At this, Lautrec chuckled.


	41. Too Fake

Lautrec led Lex to the end of the great hall and the the broad stair at the end. The room ahead was separated by a large wooden divider. There were numerous alcoves featuring statuettes of gods or saints Lex didn't recognize, and the center was blocked by a fog wall. Lautrec motioned onward.

"Go on. We've already spoken with the guard. We won't ruin his first impression of you."

"Wait, what's being guarded if Gwyndolin's hiding in the basement? You said something about a false queen, right? If Gwyndolin is already pretending to be Lloyd, what's the point in-"

"Now, now. Don't try and ruin the surprise. Just see for yourself."

Lex sighed and shook his head.

"Fine."

He passed through the fog and into a grand chamber lit by the illusion of golden sunlight. The arched ceiling stretched higher than the Archives, and likewise there was a second storey which wrapped around the edges of the room. It was suspended by columns lined with Silver Knight statues as in Gwyndolin's hall. At the far end stood a statue of Lord Gwyn. On his left hand stood Princess Gwynevere, but the statue on his right was missing. Was it meant to be the exiled God of War or the hidden Goddess of Luck?

Maybe it didn't matter. Beneath the statue stood a naked, obese man with a hammer the size of a boulder. He had the features of the ancient Thorolund imperial family. Only, after Lex rubbed his eyes, the prophet realized it was all armor – sculpted by the hand of a master for some bizarre cause.

A sharp click came from above, and his eyes turned up. On a balcony overlooking the chamber stood the guard. It had to have been him. Dragonslayer Ornstein, Captain of the Hunt and chief of the Four Knights of Gwyn. Lex had seem him before, through Quelaag's eye in that vision of her exile. Yet now Lex felt his presence, faded but glorious.

The man in the disgusting armor lifted his hammer, and Ornstein dropped to the floor. His armor didn't move, and the great plume of scarlet on his lion helm scarcely fluttered. It was as if gravity didn't affect him, as if he descended of his own holy will. Or perhaps because he wasn't there.

Lex's eye burned as he focused his vision through the Duke's sign. Ornstein was there and was not. The soul was his, but the body was not. The ancient spark of Fire gleamed as a lump of gold, inert but beautiful. It sat encysted in an illusion of Gwyndolin's manufacture. If there was anything of the Golden Lion left in that shell, then he slumbered deeply.

Lex didn't have time to think on it. The fat man thundered ahead with steps which shook the hall, and the false Ornstein raced like lightning. After crossing most of the passage, the Lion crouched then lunged. Quelaag's eye could track the motion of the shimmering electrum spear, but Lex's body was hardly as nimble as the demon's.

The thick blade ran through his gut with the power to pierce stone scales. The cross spear hilted on him, and Ornstein threw the cleric to one side in order to free his weapon. Lex gasped and choked on the pain. It wasn't a vital blow to an undead, but having a gaping hole in his chest left him scrabbling on the ground as blood pooled beneath him.

Ornstein leapt away in a manner which suspiciously resembled Earl Arstor's movements as the fat man slowly but surely crossed the room. A sound high and repetitive echoed as the man neared. It took Lex a moment to process it through the metallic distortion of the armor. The man was laughing. It was an unhinged, despairing laugh that found joy in madness.

The hammer rose above his head. Ornstein, the legendary noble Captain – or what was left of him – looked on dispassionately as this madman bore down on a cleric. Not a good cleric, mind, but a cleric nonetheless. Lex didn't think it was possible, but he hated Gwyndolin even more for that. Driven by fury, he threw himself out from under the falling hammer and grabbed onto its shaft. The tremendous wielder seemed to hardly notice the additional weight as he raised the weapon.

Upside down, Lex came face-to-face with the monster. He ignored the carved false face and looked down. There were sad eyes carved on the armor's neck, but like the basilisks, the true eyes could be seen through a pair of small holes closer to the center. Lex saw a pair of bloodshot red eyes leering in the shadows within. They focused keenly, and their owner giggled.

"You've got that look!" he said in a voice quite too high-pitched. "I love it! It's been so looooong!"

The madman would have sounded like a court fool, if only he were making any jokes.

"My! How delectable! It has been quite some time since I last had dragonkin! Mmmm. Should I leave you to marinate for longer? No. Though it has been long, I grown quite tired of despair. Such a strong flavor. It is quite easy to grow weary of it! I shall prefer you enraged as you are."

"What are you saying?"

"Mmmm! Confused is a novel taste as well, but I suppose I have had it quite enough. Off!"

The madman swung his hammer sidelong and shook Lex loose. The cleric hurtled away and broke his back on one of the columns. As it snapped, a Second Chance popped and knit him back together.

"You see, my boy-"

The monster stopped, and his hammer fell slack. Ornstein rushed Lex again, but the thing grabbed the Dragonslayer by the plume. The helm came clear off, and the empty armor clattered to the floor.

"My! What is this?" the monster said. "Name that miracle, by holly!"

Lex grunted and rose to a half-kneeling position. His head spun from the sudden changes in momentum. Then he saw it. The green blossom. It was everywhere. It lined the fat belly and encircled the hammer. Even the armor's carved nipples were green blossoms. Chains dangled from the armored loincloth, and in their center was a familiar link. The seal of the Ringed City.

Lex felt his stomach drop out of him. _This_ was the last servant of his lady? This monster and Lautrec? How did they earn the patronage of such a gentle mistress? Had they deceived her or gone wicked after her slumber? How old was Lautrec anyway? In any case, the madman wouldn't wait for much longer.

"It's Second Chance, taught to me personally by my lady."

"Your lady, you say? Hm? Could it be that you and I share the greatest of blessings? Say her name, boy! Let me hear it anew!"

"I serve Her Majesty, Queen Regnant Gwynllian Rose Talia!"

"Ah!" the madman cried, voice shivering. "You have heard it too! But none can be trusted in this benighted reign of a nameless moon. How might I know your sincerity?"

"How did you know Lautrec's sincerity?"

"Ah, that is a delicious tale, but not one for now. Mm! But give me a sign of the Lord's Blossom if you are true servant!"

"I've sworn a covenant with her but recently. I have the same ring as Lautrec – and another!"

"Ah!" the guardian moaned when he saw the second ring, the one studded with irregular yellow stones. "A ring might be stolen or earned in treachery, but if you have done that, you are a marvellous thief indeed! You bear a Ring of the Dead, cast in white silver and bearing bearing a flower of young grass dew. Such stone may only be found in ancestral Courland. Ah, how I long to return!"

"Courland? I'm bishop of Courland. Though I've never been there."

"Bishop of Courland? Bishop? My! What bold claim! To be spiritual liege to all humanity…"

"Eh?"

"Did you not realize? The bishop of the Ringed City, humanity's home, must be first among the clergy. Even the bishop of Thorolund must yield… if he were not the false Allfather. Did you truly not know? Are you certain you are bishop of Courland? Did you merely repeat a name you heard on the wind? Ah! Such hubris! Such humanity!"

"No, I definitely accepted that title. I just wasn't told what it meant."

The madman threw his sculpted head back and laughed.

"Oh, what wonderful comedy! Such is the inauguration of our Pontiff. Ah! Naive goddess and naive high priest. It shall be a renaissance of our culture should you survive. Say no more, holy father. You have made fool enough of yourself. I believe your story. Yet why have you come to this abandoned and dreary place, lost in yesteryear?"

"Gwyndolin told me to take a relic of- Oh! That's what Lautrec was talking about! The relic of Gwynevere. I'm here for some relic of Gwynevere's."

The madman laughed again.

"Oh, that silly thing! I just gave one to Lautrec. Well, he's not the most trustworthy sort, is he? Come along. We shall see the former queen."

"Gwynevere is still here? Really?"

"Hm. I wonder," is all the maniac would say, giggling to himself.

He led Lex toward the end of the great hall. There was a passage leading out on either side of Gwyn's statue. On Gwynevere's side, it was god-sized; on the missing statue's side, it was man-sized. Had Gwynllian sat at her father's right hand during the height of Anor Londo's glory?

The pair entered the larger passage, where Lex found it to be an elevator platform like the one he had ridden down from the first bonfire. It rose, and they stepped out onto the upper level. There was a lit bonfire between the elevator exits, no doubt evidence of Lautrec's passage. Lex almost went to it, but he thought better of it. If he was somehow killed before leaving Anor Londo, it would be safer to revive within a short walk of Gwyndolin. The mad guard, whoever he was, saw Lex turn away and gestured ahead.

"Go on. The former queen is just ahead. I must return to my post and reassemble my 'superior.' I do look forward to your reaction, oh hierophant of humanity."

He waved and stamped off in his heavy armor. There was only one way to go now. A short stair led to a double-door. It was sized for the gods, but only just. Lex wasn't sure the obese armor would pass through head-on. How strange that the grandly oversized gates and walls would end here, at the throne room. Climbing the stairs to the relatively ordinary doors was maybe even the opposite of sliding into the tremendous chamber of the demon queen.

The doors themselves were merely wooden, richly stained but not bronzed or coated with gold leaf. They had floral motifs, with an image of sixteen stars or blossoms on the top and bottom. In the middle was a knocker in the shape of a lion holding a coiled snake in its mouth.

Lex reached up to knock. When no response came, he hesitantly pushed one door open. He was nearly blinded at first, as golden sunlight poured into his eyes. Only, his holy eye saw through the illusion as always. In his mortal eye, he saw the silhouette of a woman larger than even the giant blacksmith. Yet she too was an illusion.

"Ah. I see."

The illusion reclined on an appropriately-sized couch. Either the former Queen of Sunlight had truly possessed great power or else Gwyndolin had paid the weavers and carpenters of Anor Londo enough to retire in luxury. Unexpectedly, Lex's eye didn't pierce the shadows and show him the face of the Goddess of Bounty. Both the light and the figure were illusions, and he saw only both or neither. Was it a limitation of his power, or was it because he had never bothered to train it?

As he approached, the illusion spoke out: "Thou hast journey'd far, and overcome much, Chosen Undead. Come hither, child…"

The cleric nearly obeyed without question. He was surprised. Gwyndolin's other illusions hadn't been particularly talkative. He wondered a little how it worked. Ultimately, he shrugged and did as he was told. There was no purpose in hiding one last trap for a pilgrim who had made it this far.

He walked forward and stared up at the illusion. The false goddess waited with infinite patience but said nothing. Closer now, he could make out more details in the overpowering backlight. She was draped in white silks that trailed toward the door. A great deal of her skin was exposed, and the repressed cleric might have been overstimulated if he'd not already spent so much time in the presence of a totally nude demoness.

That said, as Goddess of Bounty, Gwynevere had quite the motherly assets. Frankly, the way the light caught the top of her breasts was suspicious, given the lack of reflective surfaces in the room. Though there was quite a lot of breast to catch. Not only were they much larger than her hands – they were exposed on other side, merely bound by the same silken bands as the rest of her body.

In what seemed to be a lifetime ago now, Lex had wondered why so many images of Princess Gwynevere were amended by later artists. Now he knew. He looked down out of shame and nearly whispered a prayer to the wicked Duke for his billowing robes.

Bowing seemed to trigged a reaction from the illusion, who spoke again.

"O Chosen Undead. I am Gwynevere, daughter of Lord Gwyn and Queen of Sunlight. Since the day Father his form did obscureth, I have await'd thee."

"So, how does this work?" Lex replied. "Am I just talking to Gwyndolin again?"

"I bequeath the Lordvessel to thee," the illusion continued, ignoring him.

She held something cupped beneath her fingertips and gently set it on the edge of the platform which elevated her couch. She didn't make eye contact but remained focused on the item beneath her hand.

"And beseech thee. Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the Fire of our world. Thou shall endeth this eternal twilight, and avert further undead sacrifices."

At last, she withdrew her hand, revealing an old stone basin. It was so large that Lex doubted he could move it, being easily the size of a washtub. It was made of some yellowish stone and had crude patterns carved into it. It definitely didn't belong here, in these willowy and lofty halls. In fact, it quite suspiciously looked like it had come from Izalith.

Lex remembered what the giant blacksmith had said – "Find Fire bowl." This was presumably it. Why had a mere slave blacksmith known that? And Lautrec said he had already taken one? Why was there more than one relic? Where had the wicked knight even put it?

"Um," he said. "So. What next? Because I definitely can't lift this. Can I call the guard in to do it for me? Hello? Gwyndolin?"

The illusion looked down at him serenely.

"Since the day Father his form did obscureth, I have await'd thee. Once living, now Undead, and a fitting heir to father Gwyn thou art, o chosen Undead."

"That's not what I-"

"And beseech thee. Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the Fire of our world. A grave and arduous test of mettle, yea, it shall be."

"Okay, but the bowl-"

"Indeed we had felt the warmth of Fire, its radiance, and the life it sustaineth. Without Fire, all shall be a frigid and frightful Dark."

"I see why he decided to impersonate the Allfather now."

"Please. Father's role thou should assume, and inheriteth the Fire of our world. Thou shall endeth this eternal twilight, and avert further Undead sacrifices. Kingseeker Frampt, the primordial serpent, shall guideth thee."

"Wait, who?"

Lex sighed. Could he even get any answers from an illusion? He rolled his eyes and approached the bowl. There had to be some way to move it. He tried to get underneath it and simply lift. With all his strength, he was able to get it slightly off the ground before dropping it on the red, flowery carpet with a resounding thud.

"Okay, let's get stupid."

He stood and set one foot on its lip. That didn't do anything, so he carefully balanced until he was on top of it. The bowl tipped with his weight, but it still wasn't quite enough. Now, he awkwardly perched over the holy relic, falling to his knees and grabbing hold of the far edge. He rocked back, and the bowl listed deeply. He rocked forward, and after falling flat, it tilted to the other side. This time, he rolled his hips as he pulled back, and the bowl rolled around on its edge. With one final pull, Lex stood the solid stone on its side.

He panted for a moment and sighed again. Gently, he rolled the relic off the platform on which it had been placed. In order to cushion its fall, he placed one foot beneath it. After probably fracturing something, he nearly said words which were highly inappropriate for the gods' palace. Instead, he merely swallowed and blinked back the tears as he rolled the stone bowl off his foot and across the carpet.

"Now thou shall go forth, Chosen Undead. May thou be one with the sunlight for evermore."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to tell Caffrey you're doing this, Gwyndolin."

There was no reply, so Lex continued. He awkwardly kicked the second door open, nearly falling over as the bowl leaned too much to one side. He recovered at the last moment and began the delicate task of rolling the bowl down the stairs. He winced as he descended the first step, and his damaged foot quivered in pain. He descended another step and almost began crying.

In a hurry now, he tried to roll the relic faster. Unfortunately, he lost his grip as he did so. His eyes went wide, and froze in shock as his fingers clutched empty air. The cleric turned and tried to rush after the holy artifact, but jumping toward it only sent a crippling lance of pain through his leg. The bowl rolled on without him as he fell to his knees. He reached out to it helplessly and winced as it thudded down each step.

"Oh my Gwyn! No! Stop! Lady Caffrey, give me luck! That's the only thing that can save it now!"

The bowl easily reached the bottom of the stairs and kept rolling from the momentum. It missed the bonfire and looked like it would crash into the railing. The bowl was large enough that it wouldn't roll between two rungs, but Lex could only hope that the impact wouldn't damage it. Or worse – that the railing would be knocked loose.

The relic began turning, however, and now it seemed that it would crash into one of the pillars upholding the high ceiling. Lex leaned away from the pillar as if that would help the bowl turn away. In spite of the futility of the gesture, the bowl did indeed curve back thanks to its uneven weight and primitive carving. Then it disappeared.

Lex blinked, then rubbed his eyes. He started to rush toward the pillar, but then he heard a deafening crash. The mad guard's roarous laughter echoed throughout the hall. The cleric rubbed his temples. He sighed and cast a Heal on his foot before returning to the illusion of Gwynevere.

"Right, so I need another one of those fire bowls."

"O Chosen Undead. Thou hath journey'd far."

"I ju- I was just… Okay, fine. I guess this means that my luck is so bad, I have to travel with Knight Lautrec again. And Arstor the Impaler. And a Sealer of New Londo. My Lady, are you _quite sure_ your domain is luck?"

"Since the day Father his form did obscureth-"

"You already said that!"

Lex groaned and walked back to the human-sized elevator. Emerging, he found the guard collecting the scattered pieces of the bowl in Dragonslayer Ornstein's lion helm. It was difficult to pick up the small pieces with his armor's fat gauntlets, so he was also sweeping the floor with the Knight-Captain's proud scarlet plume. He giggled as Lex approached.

"My, what a tumble! What spectacular grace! That the gods' liason with Man would shatter the vessel which would rejoin the souls of Flame – how poetic! If only it were deliberate."

"I honestly don't know what Gwyndolin was expecting."

"Mmmm. How did you find our former queen? Not so much the talkative type, was she? The trick doesn't work on those who have lost their awe of the divine. Of course, it is more effective on those who have just fought for their lives. Precious few survive the final trial, and they are desperate for safety and comfort."

"Wait, others have reached the throne room? And fought you?"

"Did you not listen properly when I spoke earlier? Alas! To be dismissed as mere brute! I too am human. My devotion to our Filianore has kept me safe and sane since the very foundation of this city. My Captain, of course, is but an echo sustained by an old soul and the Duke's magic. The man himself – the god, rather – departed Anor Londo long ago. He would never serve such a crooked master as the dear serpent-princess and discarded in protest even the very soul he received from Lord Gwyn.

It is the ultimate test of undead to face these flickering embers of the Age of Fire. Only those valorous enough to slay such lessened defences of the Lord of Sunlight will stand a chance against the remaining Lord Soul bearers. I, of course, revive at a hidden bonfire. After the pilgrim has left, Gwyndolin restores dear Ornstein and places another Lordvessel."

"So then I can just get another one from that pompous-"

"Oh, no. They are not unique, but they certainly are difficult to reproduce. There may not be another until the Darkmoon Blades recover one from one of your fallen predecessors."

"Well."

"Mmmm. Quite. You have found yourself in the unenviable position of working alongside that young upstart."

"Upstart? You mean Lautrec?"

"Indeed. He certainly was no servant of Our Filianore before the great migration of the gods. I do wonder how he earned her faith."

"Well, there's that…"

"Mmmm. You wonder about my own origins? That is perhaps a story for another time. You shall not leave here until you have given me news of Our Filianore."

Lex shrugged.

"Okay, that's fair for not being killed. Whenever I die, I somehow find myself in the false afterlife where she's imprisoned."

"My! You remain so awakened in the Sea of Humanity? Incredible! I always find my hunger too great and lose my reason. I must deepen my devotion!"

"Like I said, it's coincidence. I was working for Her Highness Beryf until recently."

"Ah," the madman said. His nodding helmet was mildly unnerving. "Indeed, that wicked queen possesses terrible and ancient arts. I am not surprised she could divorce a Man from his lusts. You have done well to choose a fairer deity – the fairest!"

"Well, it took some time."

"It matters not! Only, you made the right decision with time. Yet prithee, speak of Our Lady's condition."

"She's recovered most of her memories of the outside world. She doesn't know why she's there, though."

"Ah. Ah. Ah," the zealot repeated, changing his tone each time. "Good," he said at last. "What wishes does she bear for her servants? I have long grown weary of laboring under the pale moonlight."

"She's only commanded me to bring the light of Lord Gwyn back to Men. She said something to Gwyndolin about us inheriting the Flame."

"Ah! Could it be? Does Our Filianore remember? She must! If she speaks of the olden lore, then there is no time to waste! This inadequate servant shall join you, oh Pontiff. Think it no insult, but you are hardly prepared for the deadly combats you will face. I cannot trust young Lautrec to this matter. You are our only connection to our holy Queen. I will not risk losing her voice to a jealous knight."

The enormous guard genuflected and bowed his head.

"I am called Smough. By the grace of Lord Gwyn, I am yet still Royal Executioner. In lieu of any other officials, I shall assume the burden of escorting the esteemed Bishop of Courland to the land of his office. This, I may do in the name of our holy Queen, Gwynllian Rose Talia, ruler of the Mortal Lands. As of old, I rise, Spear of the Church of Filianore!"


	42. Follow You

"Wow!" Lex said, trying to find words. "The Royal Executioner."

"Mmmm. Of course such a filthy task was given to a filthy human. The gods should not sully their own hands."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Oh, you could tell? They certainly couldn't." Smough threw his head back and laughed before continuing, "Mistake not my respect for the royal family. Even that wretched child below has given much for the continuance of Fire. Man has been cast in the gods' image. Think back to all the petty, scheming Men you have met in your life. It is the same among the gods."

He turned to stare at the headless armor of Ornstein.

"Many gods grew weary. Their spirits had burned with fervor when the Flame was strong, but they faded as it did. The kinder, weaker, gods departed first. I am certain you realize what that did."

Lex's brows furrowed.

"I don't know what happened to Anor Londo, but Thorolund rotted. Fourteen gods declared false. One even happened when I was a child. Deorwynn, God of Husbandry. As if animal breeding led to some terrible Dark."

"Rot?" Smough repeated slowly. "An interesting word choice. I would have expected you to continue the fire metaphor."

"Oh, right, I-"

"No, it is really quite interesting! Why, it reminds of something _Ariamis_ had said. The real one, of course. Hm. Setting that matter aside; as I had implied, only the harsh and cruelly-burning gods remained here. The humans were kept in darkness, so to speak, as more gods fled and those who remained became paranoid at their loss of numbers.

We humans were too many. The gods needed stronger controls and slowly rewrote history in order to make us doubt our strength and rely more closely upon them. Of course, ancient Men of culture such as myself knew the truth, but what should we do? We had received no orders from our distant Lords, and many of us no longer cared about our ignorant brothers toiling in the dirt like animals."

"What caused us to live like that? How did we leave the Ringed City? Why would we want to?"

"We are short of life in our beauteous forms. It is all too easy for the generations to wash away hard-earned caution. Still, it was not all planned. There were always Men of the wilds, who burrowed away like cicadas while the war with the dragons raged on. And as the gods' own cities expanded, they could no longer sustain their lifestyles. They loosed human thralls so that they might later demand tribute."

"Then how much-?"

Lex stopped. He wasn't sure if he knew what to ask. A secret part of him _was_ sure but wasn't sure he wanted to ask it.

"How much what? How much of your life and faith have been in vain? How much did you sweat and bleed to serve the desires of petty rulers?"

Smough gave a high, cruel laugh that echoed through his armor.

"Ah, despair is a wonderful flavor, but it has grown quite wearying of late. Do find strength, o Pontiff! Your faith has not been wholly in vain. Why do not all humans revive as undead? It is because they lack the spark for it! The burning embers of life and light! If naught else, your faith has given you that spark which kept you in the world of Fire."

"Well," Lex sighed, "I'm not going hollow any time soon. It's not like I'd never doubted the gods before. I guess hearing that they're only… human… is a little disappointing."

"An amusing turn of phrase but not quite accurate. We wear _their_ shapes rather than the reverse. Beneath, we are as ever, Dark. Our two peoples have very different appetites at heart. Our Filianore – and the missing Ariamis are beloved by Men because their deep empathy bridged that gap. Yet there is hardly need to tell one who speaks with our Queen. Let us be off! Abandon your sorrows in Anor Londo as the gods have!"

Smough turned and bowed before the statues of the gods.

"It is farewell at last, my Lord. Perhaps for ever. I shall take your Knight with me, that he might serve your line until he burns out at last."

The guard rose and approached Ornstein's empty armor. He held out one hand, and tongues of flame began to lick at his gauntlet. After a moment, a soul pooled into his grip. It wasn't anything like the petty souls Lex had seen before, the sort that gave humans energy and was manipulated by sorcery. Ornstein's soul was a golden flame that gently rolled about Smough's fingers. Instead of flickering or crackling, it wafted with a slow dignity like the mane of a great lion.

"Hmmm. I wonder, I wonder," Smough said. "I should very much like to take this for my own, but that form is… inconvenient. I am already overlarge for a Man. Yet, is there another use for it? I've half a mind to give it to you, o Pontiff, but you no doubt lack the sophisticated understanding to make proper use of it."

Strangely, he rubbed the chin of his armor's false head.

"Could perchance you could take it to our lady? It would be quite appropriate for the old cat to somehow serve in her escape. His master the, ahem, God of War did so dote on her."

"I'm not sure," Lex said. "You'd think an afterlife would be completely separate, but I somehow revived with these covenant rings."

"Ah, that is a complex topic. Not one with which I am intimately familiar. Regrettably, the only experts remaining are those genuine lunatics."

"Not the Sealer either? What if I just asked Caffrey?"

"Caffrey? I beg your pardon, but who?"

"You've never heard of Caffrey, Goddess of Luck?"

"Of luck? You mean our lady?"

"Right. It seems some lands call her Caffrey just like Lautrec calls her Fina. She's pretty fond of 'Caffrey,' though. That's how she introduced herself after I decided I wasn't about to try pronouncing her Noldor name."

Lex stopped suddenly, realizing what he just said. It was probably fine. Smough certainly didn't seem to _worship_ the gods. Still, the cleric had no idea what "Noldor" actually meant. It was probably just the racial name of the gods, but knowing Seath, maybe it was something closer to "trained dog."

"Oh my! Has Our Filianore shared with you that ancient history?"

"No, I'm just repeating what I heard from the Duke," Lex said quickly.

"It would be good for you to learn. Perhaps I shall explain it to you along the way. Though our lady is my elder, she is yet still young of spirit and was shielded from much. I do not know whether she is aware of her Lord Father's true glory."

Smough's voice seemed to glimmer with respect when he spoke of Gwyn. It was heartening to hear it from someone who had actually known the Lord of Sunlight.

"For now," Smough said, "I shall retain Captain Ornstein's soul. Let us speak with the others."

As the guard started crossing the chamber, Lex almost asked about the giant blacksmith. The giant, Alby – no, Ailbhe, the prophet realized – had said he could forge a soul. Yet, wouldn't Smough have mentioned that option? And did Lex actually want to transform a soul into a mere object? What exactly was a soul, and how could Ornstein have given up his own? Lex sighed and chased after Smough.

The madman dispersed his own fog wall, but as usual, there was trouble brewing on the other side of the fog. There was a tense standoff between Lautrec's group and the Astoran knights, now physically present. The pair gasped and tensed for combat as they saw the enormous guardian of Anor Londo emerge. Arstor afforded a glance back and whispered to his companions. Lautrec burst out laughing.

"So you've finally bucked the leash! Did you really need a cleric's permission? Our lady has stirred at last! Our age is dawning!"

"I received no orders to leave my post, young Lautrec. Nor was there any need to do so. You would do well to learn that patience is part of faith."

"I know patience," Lautrec snapped back. "I'll show the Pardoner exactly how patient I am."

Smough ignored him and stepped forward. His heavy footfall was all he needed to announce his presence.

"Greetings, young knights! I am Executioner Smough, headsman of Anor Londo by the grace of Lord Gwyn. Stand aside, lest I crush you."

"Hold, Sir Executioner," Oscar said, not moving. "If you are a servant of Lord Gwyn, do we not deserve an explanation?"

Solaire added: "I cannot believe that the Lord of Sunlight and his kin would be served by such men."

Smough giggled.

"Oh? Is not blind faith the foremost of virtues? Fie on you! Into the Book of the Guilty, you go!"

Solaire tensed as he heard that. Smough kept chuckling.

"Oh, fret not, noble hero! I have no authority over the Book. Even if I did, it is merely a list of targets for the Darkmoon assassins. You won't live long enough for it to matter if you do not clear my path posthaste."

Smough had reached the bottom of the stairs now, and the Astorans were merely steps away. The Executioner loomed over them, more than twice their height with the false head atop the armor. His hammer was as ever, a slab of brass which could have been a thousand primitive swords. If one of the knights was struck directly, it would test even the durability of the undead.

"It's fine, Executioner," Lex said. "I've traveled with them before. They're honorable knights. It's just that Team Carim doesn't exactly hold to the same standard."

"Mm. So be it. Move along, little heroes. Your goal lies beyond."

"No," Oscar said. "Our goal lies with you and with whatever Velka sought here."

"Oh, yes!" Smough cried. "A knight must have valor! That is what Anor Londo has lost!"

Oscar hurtled across the room and clattered to the floor. He'd been spared the agony of striking a wall or pillar and was mostly intact.

"Yet, wisdom is also required," Smough continued as he lowered his hammer.

"What the Flame, Smough?" Lex shouted, running alongside him.

The guard ignored him, leaning over Solaire and saying, "Fetch your friend, Warrior of Sunlight. He has lightened my mood. I won't grind you two to meal today."

Solaire sheathed his sword pointedly.

"Both you and these men – what need would Anor Londo have for such cruelty?"

Smough simply laughed. Lex looked on, curious as well.

"Why, there are many reasons! For every shining tower beneath the sun, so too is a long shadow. Such is the meaning of Disparity and the world carved from gray fog. I embraced my own Dark nature and bound it to the Lord's will. Others… not so much."

Smough's chuckles became throaty and disturbing. His voice fell flat, deep, and serious.

" _I quite enjoyed my duty._ "

The Executioner giggled lightly, a girlish teehee. Solaire stared up at the false face.

"Can you swear by sunlight that you have never harmed an innocent?"

"Of course not! Even the Lord's justice was not infallible… _to say nothing of this fallen land and its Way of White._ "

Solaire didn't break eye contact. Of course, the sculpted eyes on Smough's helm would never lose a staring contest either.

"My! Stalwart, aren't you?" Smough said after a moment. "Your master would approve. Well, know that Her Majesty would not wish any innocent to suffer. Is that not why Lautrec is a murderous cretin?"

Lautrec snorted but didn't rebut.

"Our lady, our Queen, Our Filianore, is too pure. In a perfect world, she would rule forever, and there would be no strife among Men. Yet, you must realize that ideals only get one so far. Was it justice that earned your entry to the City of Sunlight? No, it was your strength of arm – same as the wicked you see before you."

"You did not answer my question."

Oscar had made his way back by now and slipped his estus flask in a belt strap. He didn't draw his sword, but he kept one hand on its pommel.

"Ah! You have distracted me. Splendid! Yet, your companion holds the sincerest proof of Her Majesty's _noblesse oblige_. From whence, praytell, do you imagine the estus flask originated? How peculiar is it that such an unknown artifact could spread far enough to become an 'undead favorite'? A mysterious emerald flask with mysterious ties to the mysterious bonfires and their mysterious Keepers."

"Kremmel, God of Struggle," Oscar spat.

"Now, don't be difficult. We speak of Gwynllian, Goddess of Humanity. Your own Goddess. All our Goddess! Lord Gwyn was fair, but our folk are naturally disadvantaged in some respects. Our Filianore was ever our advocate. Given to us as hostage, she should have _resented us_. Yet even now, she is our salvation."

"You-" Oscar started, but Solaire waved him back.

"It warms my heart to hear there is such a goddess," Solaire said. "But I asked of you, Executioner. Have you knowingly taken innocent lives in the name of this goddess?"

"Ah, such conviction! I should reward such."

Solaire raised his shield, but Smough wasn't speaking euphemistically about his hammer.

"I would take an innocent life in my lady's name only to save her own. She would hate me for even that, but so precious is her life that I would accept that hatred. _You do not understand the time before. You too would sacrifice all for her._ "

"Then you have never willingly slain an innocent?"

"Not for Our Filianore. Certainly, in my duties as Executioner under the Nameless Moon."

Oscar looked to Solaire. The Warrior of Sunlight was so still and focused that he seemed a statue.

"You said there were assassins who were also connected to the moon. Is there some nocturnal conspiracy in Anor Londo?"

Smough chuckled deeply, wickedly.

"Beneath us lies the honorary tomb of Lord Gwyn. There, the God of the Darkmoon ruled Anor Londo from the shadows until this very day. Our lady is Queen now, but possessing a title means little, you understand."

Solaire sighed. His exhaustion was plain.

"I thought about what you said in the fight earlier, Oscar. I want to believe Executioner Smough, and I want him to earn forgiveness. We are not strong enough to fight him now, Oscar. It took all we had to fight those three behind him. Even if we wished to bring justice back to the court of the Sun…" He swallowed before continuing, "…we lack the Sun's strength."

Oscar nodded.

"Can a battle between undead ever truly end?" he said. "If we did win, what would that earn us? Why are we here? Why are we fighting the gods' own knights? Even with few left, they could have saved lives. Why are they here, 'testing' undead?"

The two Astorans looked to each other.

Oscar continued, "I don't wish to let criminals walk free. Even if Knight Lautrec's case could be argued, Earl Arstor is nothing less than a monster. Yet, if they serve a deity who is willing to put an end to this… I wonder…"

"Is it worth it?" Solaire finished. "I don't know. I do not feel that these men are like the demons, conflicted and suffering. But I have a lingering regret. What if I had stayed in Astora and fought against King Llewi? Would the people have suffered less? Would they have been warmer of heart and stronger against the Curse?

I don't know, but I am afraid of the answer. I don't know if I could turn away again. If this God of the Darkmoon is truly at fault for Anor Londo's decline, should I not stand and fight? Maybe then, the Silver Knights would aid us in our journey."

Oscar grumbled to himself.

"You may be right. I don't think there's any reason for the Executioner to lie. Lex, you've been strangely quiet. What's your stake in all of this?"

Lex crossed his arms uncomfortably.

"Well, I finally thought Her Highness Berenike… maybe didn't have my best interests in mind. It turns out that when we die, we get trapped in some nightmare world. Goddess Berenike did something to me which let me stay halfway conscious. I ended up getting rescued by a goddess there. I'll give you three guesses."

"You joined this Goddess Gwynllian as well?"

"Not at first. I refused, but she helped me anyway. She guided me this far. Eventually, I just wondered why I was still serving Goddess Berenike, other than some misplaced sense of duty. Obviously, these aren't exactly heroes, but Smough has been serving her from the beginning. I can trust him that much. And I'll trust in Caffr- in Queen Gwynllian's judgment."

Oscar let his head tilt back thoughtfully, and he stared at the ceiling. Solaire stepped forward, past Smough. He put one hand on Lex's shoulder.

"Then I will trust in your judgment."

A bit of humor crept back into Oscar's voice.

"There's my reckless Captain. What is our plan, Solaire?"

"We must return to that stairway and descend into the Great Lord's Tomb. Prophet Lexion, Executioner Smough, what will you do?"

"We must reclaim-!" Smough began.

"Actually," Lex interrupted quickly. "We've got to hurry to Izalith. Her Highness Beryf moved to attack it several deaths ago. I have no idea how much time has passed."

"Oh my!" Smough said. "A chance to intercept that wicked deity before she retreats into hiding once more. Let us away, gentlemen. We shall not find another chance like this."


End file.
